


After

by cakeby_thepound



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeby_thepound/pseuds/cakeby_thepound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michonne has been challenged to figure out what she wants in this life. Rick is struggling with finding out what he needs. After tragedy strikes at home, the two of them are forced to find those answers, and learn that there are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind. </p>
<p>(Richonne. Time frame: Post Season 6A.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Way Out

**Chapter 1  
** **No Way Out**

" _Dolor hic tibi proderit olim_."

Michonne gazed at the dying woman before her, wishing that they had more time – even before the tragic moment they were currently in – to speak with one another. Deanna Monroe obviously had a lot of wisdom to impart, and Michonne simply hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak with her since arriving to Alexandria. "What does it mean?" she wanted to know.

"Someday, this pain will be useful to you." She lightly held Michonne's face, watching the warrior's tough exterior begin to crumble.

And indeed, she did feel that pain. Deanna obviously didn't know the details of her life, but she meant it when she said she was good at reading people. Michonne had lost her child, her boyfriend, her entire world before this one, and never fully recovered. She had learned to live with it, and did her best not to let her pain define her, but never did those scars quite heal. So she clutched Deanna's cold hand in her own as she nodded, hoping that those words would prove to be true.

"Go," Deanna gently urged her, also lamenting the lack of time they had together. "They need you."

She stood to her feet, understanding that they did need her. And she needed them if she was going to make it out of there. There was no time to mourn or feel or even think for too long, not at the moment. "Thank you," she told her friend before leaving.

"For what?"

"For believing."

Deanna closed her eyes, nodding slightly at the compliment. "I still believe," she declared, looking back up at her. "I cocked it all up, but I figured it out." She reached out to take Michonne's hand one last time, and implored her to do the same. "What do you want," she asked emphatically. "Now you figure it out."

"I will," she promised. It had been so long since she thought about herself, it was almost hard to imagine where she would start. But she would figure it out if it killed her.

"Good," Deanna smiled weakly. She needed to know that Alexandria – what remained of it, anyway – would be left to people with dreams of a future. People that could conceive of life after all this death. And between Michonne and Rick, she was confident that it would be. "Give 'em hell."

With a heavy heart, Michonne slipped out of the room that would serve as Deanna's final resting place, and into the next, where Rick and Gabriel were still preparing walker guts for their impending death march. She looked around the small room, almost in disbelief that this had become her new normal. She didn't even blink when Rick announced the plan. But somehow, Deanna asking her to figure out what she wanted out of life had rendered her speechless.

In the same vein, Rick couldn't help but notice the odd look on Michonne's face when she returned to the scene. And for most people in their situation, he would've chalked it up to plain old fear. It would've been understandable, considering what they were about to do. But Michonne wasn't most people, and like him, usually didn't let her fear show. So he guessed it had to do with having to put Deanna out of her misery. "You okay?" he called out to her, worried.

"I'm fine," she frowned, knowing she was lying. Knowing that he probably knew she was lying, too. Death was literally at the door, and within a matter of minutes, they'd be walking into a war zone – none of them were okay. They could only hope they would be. And if by some miracle, they were, and she made it out alive, she would have to actually answer those questions Deanna asked of her. That might've been the scariest part of all.

Still, Michonne knew she had a task at hand, and distractedly grabbed a sheet from the bed to drape over herself. She swiftly removed her sword, covered herself, and was pleasantly startled when she pulled the fabric down from her face and found Rick standing in front of her, his hands full of guts.

"Hold out your arms," he instructed.

She did as told, extending her arms to her sides while he spread the disgusting walker innards over her shoulders and across her chest. He was unusually gentle as his hands moved over her breasts, and she couldn't help but smile to herself a little - just a little - as she enjoyed the small diversion from everything else. It was the most action she'd gotten in nearly two years.

"What?" Rick wondered, noticing her grin. Wondering if she was thinking the same thing he was, as he practically groped her. The moment was exactly the opposite of sexual, but that didn't stop the thoughts from creeping in anyway.

"Nothing," she said, her smile fading when she realized she'd been caught. She caught sight of Carl walking into the chaotic room and reality quickly settled back in. "Carl, grab a sheet," she directed him, pointing towards the bed. "I'll get you as soon as I'm done."

As Rick circled Michonne to take care of her back, he glanced at his son, both of them nodding to one another as he slathered another handful of entrails on his friend. "I was thinkin' you and me should flank the group," he said as he worked. "Just so we can jump in from either side if anything happens."

She nodded. "Who's gonna take Judith? Carl?"

"I think so," he sighed. It couldn't be either of them, and he certainly didn't trust anyone else in the group with his daughter in the middle of a herd. "You think that's a bad idea?"

"No." She carefully let her arms fall back to her sides as Rick came to face her once more. "I think it's the best play we've got."

He nodded back, relieved that she agreed, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. She seemed distracted, which was very unlike Michonne in times of peril. He was used to her laser focus; relied on it. But he also knew that she wanted Alexandria badly, maybe more than any of them, and it must have rattled her to see it deteriorating like this. "Hey," he said, demanding her gaze. He waited for it before he spoke again. "Everything is gonna be fine."

She felt the threat of tears stinging away at her, as she deeply appreciated his efforts to be comforting, even if he didn't believe it himself. And the sadness in his eyes told her that he didn't; that he was the one needing the support. She swallowed down all of her trepidation and gave him the most genuine smile she could muster. "I know."

_Oh Lord, live inside me, lead me on my way_  
_Oh Lord, live inside me, lead me on my way  
_ _Lead me home, lead me home_

* * *

_Oh Lord, in the darkness, lead me on my way_  
_Oh Lord, in the darkness, lead me on my way  
_ _Lead me home, lead me home_

Exhausted from the day's harrowing course of events, Michonne slowly made her way into the infirmary for the third time now since they'd brought in Carl, silently begging not to be met with bad news once she made it inside. The room was dim and eerily silent as she walked in and shut the door. She was relieved to walk past the room divider to find that Rick was still sitting at his son's bedside, the same way she'd left him. No change. And at that point, no news was better than bad news.

Rick turned his head only slightly at the sound of her footsteps, but didn't acknowledge her otherwise. He kept his focus on his son, lying there with a bullet hole torn through the right side of his face, courtesy of Ron Anderson. Courtesy of himself, when it came down to it. Rick had been at a loss for words for the past few hours now.

"You should go home and get some rest," Michonne called out to him, her voice soft and reassuring. She rested her hand on his back and rubbed gently when he lowered his head. "I can stay with him for a few hours."

"I'm all right," he declined.

She knew that wasn't true. He wasn't fine before he had to chop off a woman's arm and watch his son get shot, so his level of un-fineness had to have been multiplied by about a million by then. "Rick. No one is invincible around here. And you don't get any prizes for pretending to be."

He nodded as he thought of Jessie's advice to Sam just before they both died. "I just know I'm not gonna get any sleep."

"Then let your body rest," she offered, letting her hand fall to his shoulder. "You'd be surprised by how much just a shower helped me."

He rolled his eyes, a scoff from his nose accompanying it. "You sound like them," he said flatly, referring to the Alexandrians. "Since when do showers make anything better?"

Michonne understood that he needed the space to be in a bad mood, so she didn't respond. Instead, she stepped away to pull up a chair, as it was clear he had no designs on leaving. So neither did she. With a sigh, she sat down beside him, both of them staring at Carl as if they'd never see him again. Because the sad fact was, they very well may not.

"He was such a good kid," Rick declared, his dismal, hoarse voice pervading the silence. "He didn't deserve this."

"He doesn't," she agreed, but couldn't help but frown at the way he spoke as if Carl was already gone. "But he saw you were in danger, and he wanted to save you. He gets that from you, I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah..." he chuckled spitefully at the thought. "I wish he'd settled for us having the same eyes."

"Your kid's a hero."

"I'd rather him be a coward if that's what keeps him alive."

"You don't mean that," she sighed again, running her hand along Carl's leg. Jessie's kids were scared to death, and it nearly got all of them killed. "You're both still here."

He finally glanced at Michonne for the first time since she'd walked in there, immediately feeling lighter as he took her in. She did seem a bit better after going home and getting cleaned up. She had been crying harder than him earlier in the day. Maybe there was something to be said for cleansing yourself of being covered in other people's blood. He eventually nodded as his gaze blankly wandered away and fixated on the kitchen counter in the distance. "Judith's okay?" he asked.

"She's fine," Michonne assured him. "Asleep when I left."

"Sometimes I wonder," he started, speaking in his typical slow, contemplative cadence, "if she has any clue of what's goin' on. What kind of mess she was born into."

"This is what's normal for her. She's gonna be more equipped to deal with this world than any of us ever were."

Rick nearly smiled when he thought about what a good baby she was. "She's almost comically adept at not crying at the wrong time."

Michonne chuckled as well. It was pretty miraculous that their undoing out in the walker herd wasn't the infant, but rather, a twelve-year-old kid. "She's one of us," she joked.

"I thought they were all 'one of us,'" he shot back, his eyebrows raised questioningly as he glanced at her again. "Or do y'all just say that to make me feel like an asshole?"

"First of all, that was a joke." She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "And I never said they were us. I get the hierarchy. There are certain people I'm always gonna save first, and that's just the way it is. That's why what happened today happened," she explained, keeping her voice low. She spoke as though Carl was just asleep, as opposed to in a coma, and the level of her voice could disturb him. "But what I was trying to tell you this morning is that you need to stop perpetuating the 'us versus them' mentality. It's crippling us. It's crippling  _you_."

"And I heard you. And I heard Deanna. But then today happened." He sighed heavily, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees, continuing to stare at his son. "And I'm right back to not trusting anybody."

"Rick, this isn't anybody's fault," she shook her head. "A bad day, bad luck, bad timing. It isn't fair, but… tragedies never are. You can't use this an excuse to shut down."

He looked at her again, staring her up and down for a few beats as he took in her words. "I guess you would know," he mumbled to himself.

Michonne wasn't sure what he meant by that, and also wasn't sure if she heard him correctly, so she decided against responding once again. Instead, she got up from her seat and headed for the kitchen. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head when she looked back at him.

"Well," she exhaled as she approached the refrigerator, pulling open the door. "I know you eat like a bird, but maybe try and get something down while we wait."

"I don't eat like a bird," he protested with a quiet laugh. "I just… don't need a lot."

"…Like a bird." She pulled out a pitcher of apple juice, along with a loaf of bread, and set them on the counter. "I know we're low on food, but if you're not gonna rest, you have to eat."

"Sometimes I wonder what you'd do if you didn't have me to boss around."

"Oh, you love it." She turned back to him with a grin and then retrieved the peanut butter from a neighboring cabinet. "I remember, not so long ago, as we headed to Terminus, you thanked me for taking the lead. You said you don't like making the decisions  _all_  the time, and that's fine. You shouldn't."

"I shouldn't like it, or I shouldn't do it?" he smirked.

"Both." She continued her task of quickly and carefully putting together peanut butter sandwiches for the two of them, and it all reminded her of their time on the way to Terminus. It wasn't unlike their current situation, just the three of them stuck in some room somewhere, a little bit hungry, a little bit sad, while she tried to make the best of things. It was on that road that she and Rick and Carl became family, cementing their place in her life; and hopefully, hers in theirs. Somehow, those were the happiest of her post-apocalyptic days, and they made her smile. Especially now, when she mostly just wanted to cry. It was a happy memory to get her through the rough spots, and she focused on it as she finished preparing their meal.

"I've been wondering if that's what I've been doing with Jessie," Rick proclaimed, just as Michonne turned towards him with plates of food.

"Excuse me?" she frowned, her train of thought having taken her away from their original conversation.

"The responsibility, the decision-making." He accepted his sandwich with a grateful nod, watching as she went to retrieve their drinks. "I wanted to escape it. I think. I needed to feel something other than this paralyzing fear that I was fucking up."

"And Jessie has to do with that how?" Michonne wondered, still confused.

"We were…" He exhaled nervously. "I don't know what we were. I don't know what we were doing. Our kids could barely be in the same room together."

Michonne stood over him, her expression falling even further as she put his clues together without a lot of context. "I see."

Taking his drink, he looked up at her almost guiltily. "I don't know what it was, but it was something. I guess."

"You don't have to downplay it, Rick. You always liked her." She finally took her seat, but had somehow lost her appetite in that moment. Not out of jealousy, she didn't think. She knew Rick had feelings for her, and that never bothered her. She'd just assumed they went on the backburner after he'd killed Pete. But what stung was finding out that he didn't care to share this with her, whatever it was. She thought her and Rick to be pretty close – intimate, even – so for him to still be keeping secrets was disheartening.

"I'm not trying to downplay it," he promised, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I just really don't know what it was. I knew she wasn't us, wasn't made of what we're made of. But maybe… maybe I thought I needed that."

She glared at the side of his face as he obliviously continued to eat his food. "You wanted someone else to save," she offered.

"No," he retorted quickly. "God, no. We see how that worked out." He sighed again as he stared at Carl. "I don't know what I wanted. But I was wanting. And even with everything else, with Pete and all that, I just found myself drawn to her - her sadness, maybe. Or maybe it was her attempt to be open in spite of it. I don't know."

Michonne took gulps of her apple juice as if it were liquor, her eyes fixated on the floor. "I don't know either."

"I wish I did. I wish it didn't sound so bad to say I just wanted to get away. But I looked at her today, before any of the bad shit went down, and I saw what I saw in Carter. 'It doesn't matter what I do, because you're gonna die.'" He let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head as he tore off another piece of his sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth. "And it hit me hard that none of this was real. I wanted to escape, and I couldn't. I can't."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, unsure of what to say to comfort him. She was unsure whether she even wanted to comfort him. But she understood, probably better than anyone, that feeling of wanting to escape your despair and not being able to. Wherever you go, there it is. "No way out," she commented wryly.

Rick nodded, sniffling as he realized how right she was. "Yeah, that."

"Maybe if you'd share some of these feelings," she said just above a whisper. "All these secrets…"

"What?" he glanced at his friend, genuinely unclear about what she'd said.

"I just… I just don't know why you didn't tell me. You don't let me know you're going through these things until they blow up in all our faces."

"Oh, this blew up in  _your_  face. That's interesting."

"Is it?"

"It is. I guess I'm just not sure what's affecting you so much here."

"And therein lies the problem," she sighed, setting her cup on the floor. "You think what you do only affects you, and that's not true. Not if you're gonna purport to be our leader. Your actions don't exist in a vacuum, Rick. If you'd gotten kicked outta here last week? We all would've been affected," she chided. "I killed a  _child_  today. A scared, angry sixteen-year-old kid. Because he tried to kill you. And ended up shooting someone that I care more about than anyone in the world." Michonne looked up to the ceiling, trying to avoid the images of the day that wanted to haunt her. "Come to find out, it's because you were too busy trying to get into his mother's pants to notice that this kid  _hated_  you. That's what blew up in my face  _today_. But I can make you a list if you'd like."

"You're being cruel because you're upset," he returned dismissively. "I'm not saying things are perfect by any means, and I know I've done my shit. But so have you. And I never threw it back at you. Don't be cocky now, just because you're all happy and whole now."

"Oh, is that what I am?" she smiled derisively, in disbelief that someone else was telling her how her life was just peachy now. "People keep saying that. 'It worked out for you.' Letting your grief turn to arrogance. Not leaving room for anyone else's pain." She closed her eyes and allowed the calm to wash over her before she completely lost it on him. "You have no idea what I live with."

Rick immediately softened his stance when he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries. He only had pieces of her past – certainly not enough to paint an entire picture – and it wasn't fair to assume that she was over it. Maybe she was just better at pretending than most. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right."

Michonne finally resorted to angrily eating her sandwich, while Rick stared at her apologetically.

"Truth is, I didn't even think about telling you about Jessie," he admitted.

"Afraid I would talk you out of it?" she quipped sarcastically.

He tried not to think about the fact that, again, she could've. "I just... we don't talk about that kinda stuff. That's not our relationship, is it?"

"Well what is our relationship, Rick? Because I'm not sure that I know anymore."

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm being honest. Don't dismiss me," she demanded, her mouth full of food. "I forgave you for lying about the guns and your ridiculous hostile takeover plan. But now you're telling me you've been pursuing this woman I've never even seen you talk to, and I just don't understand why. If we're friends, then let's be friends."

"Are we friends?"

Michonne scowled at the question, inwardly praying that he wasn't about to invalidate all the months they'd put into becoming closer. "What?"

"I mean, I think we're something closer than friends. You're my family. But we don't have conversations like that. You don't tell me your business, and I don't tell you mine. We don't share a lot of personal details. That's not us."

She glared at him again, hating to admit that that was closer to the truth than not.

"Or at least, that's what I figured since you never…" He sighed when his words trailed off, lingering in the air. "I dunno."

"I think you do know."

"I don't."

"Just say it."

"I guess I just don't understand why you're holding me to this standard that you don't set for yourself. I'm supposed to share. I'm supposed to be this open book. You're offended because I don't think we're really friends in that way, but…" He glanced down at his hands, still dirty from the day, and he scoffed. He wasn't sure if he should even say what he was about to say, but it was officially bothering him now. "You never told me what happened to Mike," he stated cautiously. "Or Andre."

Michonne only stared at him, a bit stupefied that he knew anything about them, resentful that he was springing it on her this way, and annoyed that he was right. She suddenly became aware of her breathing as it slowed, while her mind began to race. "What?"

Rick averted her gaze, his eyes on her knee as he bit at his bottom lip. "It's been sitting on my mind for months now."

"Carl told you?"

"No. I overheard you that morning we went to Terminus," he said, looking her in the eye again finally. "I didn't hear all of it, but… I got it."

"Why didn't you…" She grimaced again when she realized she was about to start crying. "Why didn't you say anything?" she croaked out.

"I don't know," he gestured a shrug with his hand. "I guess, with everything else happening, I didn't wanna force that conversation on you. I figured you would tell me when you were ready."

She nodded again, closing her eyes as she remembered all the times she considered telling him. All the times she chickened out because she didn't want to be that vulnerable with him.

"But here we are, in this conversation about keeping secrets, and you've got this massive one you're walkin' around with. And you just never… I'm not the only one. That's all I'm sayin'."

"You're right," she conceded with a light sigh. "You're an asshole for bringing it up this way, but you're right."

"I've actually admired you for the way you handle it. The way that you just seem so… okay. Maybe it's the time you spent on the road, away from everything else. Or maybe you're not okay. But you're much better at pretending than I ever was. I wish I were better…"

Michonne gave him a look, wondering where this stream of consciousness was going to lead him. "Time heals all wounds," she offered and immediately reconsidered. "I don't know if that's true. I just know I've had a lot more time to deal with my shit."

He nodded.

"I also didn't have the added stress of taking care of anyone other than myself. So I understand that you haven't had it easy, Rick." When she looked back at him, she noticed the steady stream of tears rolling down his face and she felt her heart sink. "Hey," she whispered.

He began to run his fingers across his eyebrows, hiding his face from her. "I'm all right."

She knew he wasn't, and pulled her chair closer to him, wanting him to know that she was by his side. "Rick, I don't know what it is about Alexandria. I thought it would help, I thought it would be better for all of us," she said softly, "but something has been going on with you since we got here. You seem sad, or lost, or… maybe angry. I don't know. I don't know what's made you so resistant to this place, but you can't… How long are you gonna keep doing this?"

He shook his head, knowing that she was right, but having no clue how to reconcile that with the fact that he was aching in places he didn't even know he had, and he couldn't pinpoint why. "I don't know what's happening," he quietly cried.

"That's okay," Michonne assured him. She reached out to touch his knee and could feel the tension in his entire body. "None of us do."

"But I should be happy here. I should've been. My kids were safer, we were finally some semblance of okay again. And yet, I don't know if I've really smiled since we walked in those gates, Michonne. I'm terrified that I don't know how to be happy anymore." He covered his face again as his silent tears turned to a quiet sob.

Michonne's frustration with Rick had long since dissipated, but now she was just heartbroken for him. She felt her own tears falling as she softly squeezed his knee, wishing she knew what to say. "All these scars we have." She sniffled as she reached up to his face, gently pulling down his hand, urging him to let her see his pain. She wiped at his cheeks, where the marks from his fight with Pete still lingered. "It's easy to forget that they're not our entire journey. But we've been happy. It wasn't that long ago. We've had triumphs. Whatever you're feeling now, that's not all there is, Rick. You can be happy again. And someday…" she offered a small smile, the most she could give him in the heat of their glum moment, "this pain will be useful to you."

Rick stared at her, inhaling her words, the look on her face. Her eyes were so expressive, he thought. He always thought. Her confidence was often what kept him going, and when it felt like she was breaking, he wanted nothing more than to fix it. He wondered if she felt the same – the symbiotic nature of their relationship. When he was down, she knew she had to be up. He nodded, resting his hand over hers, not wanting it to leave his face. He appreciated the warmth of her touch at that moment. "I hope so."

_Oh Lord, heaven's waiting, open up your door_  
_Oh Lord, heaven's waiting, open up your door  
_ _Lead me home, lead me home_

She hoped so, too, but refrained from saying so. Instead, she pulled back, wanting to give him his space again, and returned her gaze to Carl. Rick hadn't been in great shape before his son's injury, so she knew his return to form would hinge on Carl's recovery. And at the moment, she had to admit to herself that that was a pretty dicey prospect. "You should go home," she tried suggesting once more, though her tone had softened even more from the first time.

"Michonne, I don't—"

"Just for a little while," she insisted. "It'll do you some good to see Judith. Lie down with her for an hour or two."

He considered it for a moment, and it did sound comforting. But then he looked at Carl, and shook his head. "I can't leave him."

"I'm gonna stay right here. If he moves a muscle, I'll radio you."

"I'm not gonna sleep."

"Rest," she said. "You never rest your mind, and barely your body. Just give it a try."

He began to fidget with his wedding ring as he stared blankly at Carl for a few more seconds, contemplating whether he could leave him like this. But the fact was, he was exhausted, and Michonne was probably right - she usually was – he needed some rest. "It's three-thirty now," he declared, glancing at his watch. "I'll be back by sun up."

Michonne nodded, and as he stood from his chair, she grabbed his hand before he could go, softly rubbing her thumb across his knuckles as she held him. She looked up at him, doing her best not to cry again, now that she'd finally gotten through to him. "Still with you," she declared, wanting him to know that was a promise.

He closed his eyes, his thumb running across the back of her hand as well, and he nodded thankfully. And with that, he headed back home.

_Lead me home  
_ _Lead me home…_

* * *

Lyrics: "Lead Me Home" – Jamie N. Commons (The Walking Dead Soundtrack)


	2. JSS

**Chapter 2**   
**JSS**

It was a little after sunrise when Rick returned to the infirmary for the day. Michonne had been right - a shower and a nap did him well, and he felt slightly less clouded and depressed than he had been a couple of hours before. Toting coffee and oatmeal for the two of them to share, he hoped Michonne was still in as good a mood as he'd left her.

When he stepped inside the peaceful home that was their hospital room, he was met with the touching image of Michonne lying down next to Carl, her hand protectively cradling his bandaged head. She looked so much like his mother - not Lori, but a mother figure, rather - Rick almost dropped their breakfast at the sight. He took a deep breath as he approached the bed, setting his two canisters on the floor, and he watched them. Stared. He took Carl's limp hand into his, but couldn't help but fixate on Michonne. She had a frown on her face, even in slumber, and it made him wonder what she was dreaming of. Maybe it was just the events of the prior day, staking claim on her features. Maybe she was thinking of her own son as she lied there with Carl. He didn't know, but he had to resist the urge to reach out and wake her. He knew it wasn't his place to intrude.

Instead, he took the seat he'd occupied for most of the previous day, and he just observed them for minutes on end. The silence felt deafening when he'd sat there alone, but it was welcome then, having Michonne there with him. He felt so much more whole when she was near. Not just this empty vessel, but a complete person, sitting in this hospital room with his family. And it felt real, and honest. It felt right.

He remembered feeling similarly as the three of them made their way to Terminus. Happy and whole, as he referred to it with Michonne. As happy and as whole as he could be with Judith gone. Somehow, it was better than he felt now. None of those feelings of inadequacy, or the chokehold of responsibility. He and Michonne and Carl made a good team. A family.

Rick used to wonder what life would've been for them if Joe and his band of thugs hadn't invaded that house they were staying in. It was only a matter of weeks ago, but that all seemed like another life now. That happiness faded into fear once the rest of the group returned. He had people to keep alive – new people, too – and he forgot all those thoughts of an alternate life with just Michonne and Carl.

In the end, maybe finding the group again was his undoing. It was hard to say. Hard to self-analyze, particularly when he was still in the thick of it. But this moment, with Michonne and Carl, it reminded him of the last time he'd been happy.

Before he knew it, tears were running down his face, and he hunched over in his chair, resignedly letting them drop to the floor in tiny puddles. He hoped to god that Michonne was right in saying he could be happy again, but it felt like the vessel wasn't just empty, but broken. Beyond repair.

It wasn't much longer before Michonne awoke, not at all surprised to find that Rick had made it back. It was as though she'd felt his presence in her sleep, lulling her awake. Sometimes, when he was close, it was like an electric current, coursing through the room. She often felt him before ever laying eyes on him. Such a strange, yet welcome quirk of their relationship.

"Good morning," he greeted her when her eyes landed on him.

"Hey," she whispered. She sleepily smiled at him, too, glad to see that he'd taken her advice and gotten cleaned up. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"I wasn't out that long then," she yawned. "Denise came by at about five, maybe a little after. Said there was no change really, which was good. No signs of brain swelling or anything to worry her."

Rick nodded thankfully, rubbing his hand over his stubbly, itchy chin.

"She said his body temperature was low, though, so I asked if I could lie down with him. She said it was fine."

"No explanation needed," he half-smiled, still enjoying the sight. Enjoying that she could be whatever he couldn't to Carl. "Not that it's unusual, but it's nice, seeing you take care of him."

"Like I said, he's my favorite," she grinned, gently pushing his hair off of his bandage again. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I did."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, sitting up in the bed so that she could see him better. "Did you really?"

"About two hours." He leaned over to pick up the food and drink he brought along with him. "And I brought breakfast."

She smiled, impressed at what seemed to be a change in his demeanor. "Well look at you."

"You might've been right about that shower," he conceded, trying to hide his smile.

"What'd you bring?"

"I made oatmeal," he revealed proudly. "I made a batch for Judith, but then I figured you'd probably want some, too."

"With the apples and cinnamon?"

"Of course." He pulled up from his chair to head into the kitchen, handing over the thermos full of coffee as he passed. "It's black, with just a little sugar."

"That's how you take it," she reminded him, unscrewing the cap as she watched him saunter toward the kitchen. "I like a little cream in my coffee."

He sent back a wink and a smirk when he replied, "I'll have to keep that in mind then."

Michonne stared at the back of him as he disappeared into the kitchen, wondering if she was correctly reading their conversation as minor flirtation. It was something they used to do fairly often, but seemed to have ebbed away for one reason or another once they headed toward Washington. Everything had become so serious, perhaps by her own design. She wasn't sure anymore. But she was glad to see traces of their old friendship – or whatever it was – coming back again.

"So I was thinking that a little later today, I could get a couple of people together and head to the quarry now that it's empty," she announced, taking small sips of the java. "See what kind of construction supplies we can find, so we can get this wall back up."

Rick nodded as he doled out the two bowls full of oatmeal, licking his fingers of the excess food. "I'd rather not talk business right now, if that's all right with you?"

She had almost forgotten what kind of mindset he must have been in. She looked down at Carl guiltily and nodded back. "Of course."

"I'd also rather you stay here today." He glanced her way, feeling his face flush as he asked her this favor. He wasn't sure if it sounded like it, but he was admitting that he wanted her company. "With me."

She smiled at him sympathetically then. "Of course."

"After the past couple of days we've had, I don't want anyone goin' out there," he submitted, approaching her with her breakfast, along with a spoon and paper towel. "We really do need to catch our breath this time."

She smirked at the callback to their conversation the prior morning. "I'm not gonna say, 'Of course' again."

Rick made his way back to the other side of Carl's bed, chuckling at her as he reclaimed his seat. "I just wanted you to know I'm not makin' excuses."

Silently, the two of them started in on their food, enjoying that something as simple as a warm breakfast could brighten their morning. Given what they'd just been through, what they were going through with Carl, it would've made sense for them to wallow in their sadness. But catching their breath with oatmeal and coffee was such a welcome change of pace.

"It's good," Michonne commented after a couple of spoonfuls. It was one of the few post-apocalyptic meals she could genuinely say that about.

"Hard to go wrong with this one," he nodded.

"I remember you used to make it with peaches back at the prison. That was always nice to come home to."

He started to respond, more than happy to reminisce on those old days he'd been yearning for earlier. But it was a conversation they'd had more than once before, and probably would have again, and he decided to cut it off at the pass. "There we go again, talkin' about food," he smirked before taking another bite of his. "It never fails with us."

She immediately smiled at how right he was. "Well food usually bears discussion. Either we're out of it, or we're thanking god we have it."

"Or we're just incredibly boring now."

"Fuck you, I'm interesting as hell," she grinned again.

"That's probably true," he granted, already beginning to scrape at the bottom of his bowl. "You just keep all the interesting stuff to yourself, I guess."

She avoided his gaze, knowing what he was getting at, but hesitant to probe that topic at the moment. So she continued eating, hoping he would find another subject to focus on.

Rick stared at her, fully aware that she wanted to ignore where the conversation was headed. But now that she knew he knew, he wasn't concerned with pulling any more punches. They couldn't talk about food forever. "Would you tell me about them?" he asked, his voice quiet and gravelly as he gazed at her hopefully.

Michonne sighed, rolling her eyes at the fact that there was no way out of this. But he knew the worst, and nothing bad had come of it, so there was no point in running from it any longer. "What do you wanna know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell me," he shrugged. "I mean, I got the gist of what all happened at the camp, so if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. But I would like to know. Who they were. Who you were."

She instinctively smiled at the thought of who she used to be, back when Andre and Mike were alive. Back when things were good. She loved that version of herself - happy, outgoing, fulfilled. Every now and then, a piece of that person tried to burst out, break through that wall she'd put up. But it felt as though that Michonne was mostly gone, and it didn't matter who she used to be.

"We get to come back," Rick declared, somehow reading her mind and whatever thoughts were behind that smile of hers. "Right?"

She grinned again, a happier one this time, as she took another bite of her apples and oatmeal. "Mike and I met about nine years ago now, back in grad school," she began. She spoke quietly and kept her eyes on her lap, staring at the contents of her nearly empty bowl. "We were at NYU, I was a very green drama student, and he was in the music program. And one of my professors actually introduced us," she recalled fondly. "I was writing this play, and I was in desperate need of someone that could write the score. And my friend Joyce, god love her, she would say, 'Oh, I have the perfect person.' And she sent me one guy that couldn't grasp the tone of my writing to save his life. And then this girl that did one really great piece that I fell in love with. And then nothing else," she chuckled.

"Nothing else?" Rick laughed, too.

"Well, let me revise that. Everything else was some version of that same song, with maybe a key or tempo change. And that might've been fine if she hadn't tried to pass them off as different songs. But yeah, that didn't work out," she sighed. "So I go to my professor, pleading for just some kind of assistance, suggestions, studios I can stalk. Anything. And she tells me that she wants me to meet this guy, he was one of her girlfriend's students in the music program. He had just put on this concert, so he might have been in high demand, but she guaranteed that he was what I was looking for. I guess she was right in more ways than one," she grinned. "But we set up the meeting, I walk into this studio, and there stands one of the most attractive men I've ever seen in my life. This gorgeous, strapping figure, with beautiful dark brown skin, and a flawless smile. And, okay, it probably didn't help that this play had me so busy, I hadn't gotten laid in months." She smiled when she heard Rick laugh, and ate a bit more of her breakfast. "But the connection was instant. We shook hands, and I almost forgot what I was even there for. I didn't know whether he would be what I needed, but I desperately hoped he would be. And then he played a piece he'd written on his violin, and it just... it was over. I asked him to compose my play, and spent every day after that counting down the days until we finished working together so that I could ask him out."

Rick gazed at her in amusement, still smiling at everything he was learning about her with just the beginning of her story. "If you liked him so much, why did you wait?"

"There was too much to do," she sighed again. "Sex and love and whatever I wanted out of it, it would've distracted me from the job. And I couldn't afford that."

"Makes sense," he nodded thoughtfully. "So everything worked out with the play?"

"There were quite a few bumps along the way," she remembered, rolling her eyes as it all came back to her. "My lead found out her mother was sick, so she had to leave right in the middle of production. I had students boycotting the play, because they heard it was about a Muslim family in the aftermath of 9-11. And this wasn't too long after it happened, so emotions were raw. I got it," she nodded. "But the actual play, while it did reference the attack, was more about rebirth after tragedy. Hell, I basically prophesized my own future," she noted with a small chuckle. "But people are who they are, and I just had to work around it."

"You're good at that," he remarked.

"At what?"

"Working around things. Finding a way when there's no way."

She smiled at the compliment, appreciating that he'd noticed that about her. She wasn't even sure she knew that herself. "Well. I'd say you're the expert at that."

"Me?"

"Well no one else in this room has bit someone's throat out, so..."

"Maybe not," he blushed, liking the idea that she might've actually admired him for that. "But I can recall the Governor bringing you home with your hands literally tied behind your back, your sword stolen from you. Not only did you find your way free, not only did you kill this man with said sword, but you saved my life."

Michonne's smile spread from ear to ear when she heard the awe in his voice. After the brutal beating he'd gotten, she didn't know he was even aware of who saved him that day. "You save me, I save you," she shrugged. "That's how it works with us, right?"

He grinned back at her, though his eyes fell to Carl, who was lying there comatose because that was how it worked with them. "Tell me more about Mike," he asked, feeling rattled by the topic at hand. "We were just getting to the good part."

"Right, our epic romance." She placed her empty bowl on the bedside table and began to reopen the coffee. "I think I'm gonna put this over some ice," she said, swirling the contents around the thermos. Even in the early morning, the heat of the day had begun to set in, and hot black coffee didn't seem so appetizing at the moment.

"I got it," Rick offered, popping up from his seat before she could move. He went to her side of the bed and collected her bowl, along with the coffee. "Go on."

"Okay, well after the play finally premiered and I was over that hurdle," she went on, "and after a lot of deliberation in my head about whether it was even a good idea, I decided to just bite the bullet and ask Mike on a date. And the two seconds between me asking and him answering felt like about thirty-six minutes," she laughed.

Rick loved that she sounded so happy talking about her past. He smiled in her direction as he rinsed their dishes. "I don't know why, but I like that you asked him out first."

"I didn't have time to wait around throwing out signals and whatever we're quote-unquote  _supposed_  to do as women. I knew what I wanted and went for it."

And he realized that was exactly what he liked about it. "How was the date?"

"So even though I asked him out, he requested to pick the place, and I was fine with that. Preferred it, even, because it would tell me what his taste was like. So he chose this really cute soul food spot in Brooklyn, like  _way_  out in Brooklyn, and… it was fantastic. We ate way too much, and talked for hours, until the place had to kick us out. And to this day, I'd say those were the best five hours of my life.

As Rick prepared their coffee, he could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, and it was contagious. He almost wished he'd been there to witness this version of Michonne himself. "What'd you talk about for so long?" he questioned.

"It wasn't much different from what we're doing right now, I guess. I talked about myself relentlessly, and he pretended to be interested," she smirked, hoping he'd know she was kidding. "He gave his autobiography as well. And it turned out we grew up quite similarly - in the south, our parents were educators, we started in the arts back in elementary school. He went to Morehouse, I went to Spelman, and somehow we never crossed paths until we ended up in this giant city together. It was silly how much we had in common, down to our initials. And he was funny, and smart, and socially aware. He was a feminist," she declared excitedly. "Such a rare find. I went home that night and called my mom, and we just laughed in disbelief. And I remember thinking, 'This doesn't have to last forever, God, but however long it does last, just let these be good times.'"

Rick smiled again as he approached her with a glass full of coffee. "Not askin' for much."

"Right." She accepted her drink with a grateful nod, and rested her head against the wall behind her. She sighed as she gazed up at the ceiling, the memories of that time of her life flooding her brain. "Well, we had sex the second date, and… I was fairly sure that our time together would be quite good, if you know what I mean."

"I think I know what you mean," he returned with a forced grin, feeling his face redden. He took a sip from his cup, trying to hide his blushing, but couldn't stop from fidgeting in his chair as he tried his best to not imagine what sex with Michonne must have been like.

"So he wanted it to be an exclusive thing after that, and I was not opposed," she chuckled, oblivious to Rick's discomfort. "We became inseparable. Probably even annoying at certain points as we fell in love. We got our degrees. I did a couple more plays, he was always right there as my composer. We worked well together, we played well together. Our families got along well. We had a good three years where things were pretty perfect."

"It feels like somethin' is already about to ruin this lovely story."

"Not  _ruin_ ," she rebutted with a knowing smile. "But Mike did get an offer to join the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, and it was a bit of a bump in the road. He was so excited about it, as he should've been, but... I wasn't trying to move back to Atlanta. So I felt as though I saw the writing on the wall when we started to consider the long distance thing. I knew that wasn't what I wanted for myself. After three years of being with one another almost every day, it would drastically change the dynamics of our relationship. So I thought we should just cut our losses, end on a good note. We would be able to look back at our relationship and say, 'We had a good time.' But..." she exhaled sharply, her genuine smile turning sad, "didn't quite work out that way."

"You got pregnant," Rick guessed, his words coming through in a throaty whisper.

Her eyebrows raised as she took a big sip of her coffee. "Ding, ding, ding."

"Carl's the biggest reason Lori and I stayed together, too," he nodded.

"I was happy, though. After the initial shock, and it feeling like the world was spinning for a few days, I was pretty elated. Thought maybe it was a sign that I should go to Atlanta. The universe obviously wanted us to be together. Silly shit like that," she scoffed. "That what you and Lori figured?"

He smiled ruefully, his eyes closing as he remembered espousing exactly that when Lori got pregnant. "Damn near word for word."

"So we moved back to Atlanta. I hadn't decided what I was going to do yet, but the ASO offered Mike more than enough to support the three of us, so I didn't sweat it. I had about a year to figure it out. And I did. But I spent most of my pregnancy just making our life. Finding a home, designing a nursery."

"You didn't do any writing?" Rick wondered.

"Not so much," she admitted in a deep sigh. "I tried, but... it was almost as though the inspiration decided to stay in New York."

"Wow..."

"I read a lot," she offered instead. "Ate a whole lot."

"A lotta chocolate, I'm guessing."

"Shut up," she grinned. She ran her hand over her face, preemptively wiping at nonexistent tears as she thought of the day she met her son. "Andre was born July 7, 2007, if you can believe it. And it was a Saturday, so 'the seventh day.'" The thought still made her heart swell. "We were never particularly religious, but it was hard to ignore that many sevens. And he came almost two weeks late. It was like he was waiting for that date, specifically."

"God's divine number," Rick smiled. "You could've named him Jesus and no one would've batted an eye."

"You joke, but Mike sincerely wanted to. I obviously vetoed that decision, but he was certainly the light of my world." She cleared her throat when she felt the lump forming there. "I wish I still had a picture to show you. He was the most gorgeous little thing. Big, brown curious eyes, they literally sparkled when he smiled. And he was such a sweet boy, he was always smiling. Laughing. He was the worst at hide and seek because he was always somewhere giggling." She swallowed hard as her eyes began to sting with tears. "I remember our last night in the city before everything got really bad, I was sitting at his piano lesson, doing something or another on my phone, not really paying attention. And then this little laugh permeated the entire room, and I looked up, and I could see his instructor getting frustrated, because he wasn't focusing. And normally, that would've bothered me, but for some reason, that day, I didn't care. I just.. I called him over to me, and we ended up in this tickle fight, right in the middle of his lesson. It was so silly. But it's one of those things I keep with me. Maybe because that was our last normal night," she said as if it were a question. "The next day, we woke up to news of school closings and evacuation warnings. So maybe I remember that night a little better than most."

"I'm sorry," Rick offered softly, his eyes scanning the floor to avoid her sad face.

"No, it's okay," she sniffled, glancing at Carl. "It does me no good to pretend he doesn't exist. He and Mike were my everything for a long time. It's nice to talk about them."

He nodded, glad to hear it. It was nice to hear about them; it gave him a clearer picture of Michonne. "No marriage, huh?" he asked, remembering that she only ever referred to Mike as her boyfriend.

"Never wanted it," she shrugged, wiping her eyes. "After Andre, our parents begged us to just do it. But Mike was doing his thing, traveling all over the world with the orchestra. I started teaching at my alma mater, and I was building a performing arts center when everything happened. But we were just fine the way we were. Marriage wasn't even on the table for us."

"But you were happy."

"I was. And I didn't realize it at the time, I don't think. But whenever I look back, it almost surprises me how good I had it. Even when things were hard, all the sleepless nights and running on empty, and disagreements about money or day cares and whatever else that's all so pointless now. Even those nights when I'd go to bed angry or frustrated, it was still good. I wasn't hurting. You know?"

"I can't say that I do know," Rick retorted sarcastically. "But I can imagine."

"Oh. Shit." It wasn't until then that Michonne remembered all the things she'd heard about Rick and Lori's marriage, either from Andrea or Rick himself, and she felt bad for being so honest. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize for having a healthy relationship," he chuckled. "I'm glad to know you were happy before."

"It still hurts just the same," she offered. "I'm grasping at happy memories. Even though it got really shitty in the end, and that still haunts me now and then. But mostly? The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before."

"Nostalgia," he nodded knowingly. "'A painful yearning to return home.' It'll get you every time."

Michonne glanced his way, surprised he knew the literal Greek meaning of the word. "I guess you feel that with Lori, despite how things were?"

"Maybe  _because_  of how things were," he admitted. "I know I must talk like we didn't have good times, but we did. It's hard, because we weren't great before the world ended. But I got shot, everything went to hell, and we still found each other. We got that second chance, and we tricked ourselves into thinking we could put it back together. Even with pieces missing; even with my best friend added to the puzzle. And of course we couldn't," he sighed, catching Michonne's eye. "We didn't. So I have to romanticize it. Makes me feel better in some ways. The way she died, with everything hanging in the air... how she did it to save Judith. I  _want_  to remember the good times. I owe her that much."

"You think that's why you were seeing her ghost?"

He had never given his visions a name, so he was a bit stunned that Michonne had. She knew he saw things, but he never realized she knew what he saw. "I... I think – yeah," he stammered. "There was a lot of guilt there. A lot unresolved. I thought there would be more time, and when there wasn't, I guess my mind took it for itself."

She smiled at his completely apt and understandable assessment of the situation. "You wanted to go home."

"What were you saying to Mike when you would talk to him?" he decided to ask since they were on the subject. "If you don't mind sharing."

"It was mostly arguing," she remembered, shaking her head. "There was a lot unresolved with us, too, of course. I blamed him. He blamed me. Which was, of course, me blaming me. It was a very strange psychological warfare I'd administered to myself. I was angry. Sad. It got to the point where I didn't realize I was actually alone sometimes. I was fucking crazy."

"You were hurting. It happens," he said emphatically, hoping she would get the reference. "I don't know where you find your strength, Michonne. For you to go on, alone, after what happened to Andre. To walk around with Mike literally on your back." He was shaking his head in disbelief as he stared at her. "I saw this thing on the refrigerator this morning. I don't know if you put it there, but it made me think of you. It made me smile."

She frowned in confusion, knowing she hadn't left anything on the refrigerator. "What was it?"

"It was just this scrap of paper that said, 'Just survive somehow.'" He chuckled again as he thought about it. "I was pretty sure it wasn't your handwriting, but I could hear your voice sayin' it to me. I imagine you've said it to yourself a couple of times along the way."

"Probably," she allowed, not entirely sure how to accept the compliment he was giving. "I think I'm just lucky that I found Andrea when I did."

"You're the only person I know that could lose everything and call themselves lucky."

"I didn't lose everything," she said seriously. "I lost a lot. I lost what meant most to me. But I found you and Carl, I found a home, I found another reason to live. And maybe it doesn't sound like much to you, because you've got your kids, but it's important to have people you care about," she realized in that very moment. "You can't just survive. You've gotta have something to live  _for_ , and I found it. So yes, I'm extremely lucky. Because a lot of people in this world lose that and never get it back." She winced when her eyes began to water again, and used the tail of her shirt to dab her face. "I hate you for making me cry this early in the morning."

He ignored her joke, distractedly chewing at his bottom lip as he absorbed her words. It was still hard for him to refer to it as luck, knowing how good things were for her beforehand, but he liked that she could see things that way. "I wish it hadn't happened the way it did," he said. "I wish I could've known your family the way you know Carl and Judy. But I'm glad you found me. Found us," he corrected himself.

She smiled at his choice of words, and at the change, which reminded her of their last moments with Andrea. Her voice was thin as she responded, "Me too, Rick."

They stared at one another awkwardly for a few beats, then around the room, avoiding the feelings they'd just so candidly expressed. Michonne set her empty glass on the bedside table and took Carl's hand into hers, attempting to read his body temperature. It was getting warm in the room, so she hoped it meant he was, too.

"Any change?" Rick asked.

"A little," she frowned, feeling his neck. "Moderately warm up here. Feel his feet?"

He did as told, reaching beneath his son's blanket to touch the underside of both his feet, then lightly squeezed his toes. "Lukewarm," he nodded.

Michonne wrapped the blanket back around him, up to his neck, and readjusted so that she was lying at his side again. "Denise should be back soon," she informed Rick, figuring that would comfort him.

He stared at Carl worriedly, then back to her. "You really think he's gonna wake up?"

"Honestly," she sighed, "it's hard to tell the difference between thinking and hoping these days. But Carl is strong. He's a fighter. And you Grimes' tend to survive traumas against all reasonable expectation and odds, so… yes, I think he'll wake up. "

He had to laugh, as he and his kids had probably used around nine lives between them at that point. But that didn't do much to assuage his nerves, and he could only pray that Michonne was right. "I'm glad you're so confident, because I'm not."

"Yeah well, you are the pessimist between the two of us."

He gave her a playful glare, his eyebrows raised at her statement. "I keep wondering when the hell that happened."

"I dunno," she agreed, having questioned the same. "It's like we switched roles after the prison. Or maybe it was Terminus that did it."

He chuckled lightly as he continued to rub at Carl's feet. "Yeah, Gareth might've been my last straw," he had to admit. "And you were all gung ho about Washington."

"And look at us now."

Both of them laughed, because they knew the jury was still out on whether their odyssey to DC had worked out for the best. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that it had. But then... Carl was laid in front of them without an eye.

They quickly sobered, and Rick released his son's foot in order to find his hand beneath the covers. "The first time he got shot, Lori was saying how maybe it would be better if he didn't wake up," he recalled as his eyes focused on the way Michonne stroked Carl's hair. "I don't wanna think that way. I was so mad at her when she did. But… I'm scared that that's where I'm headed." He glanced at her nervously, scared of how she would look back at him in response.

"What did you say to her when she said that?" she whispered, not even looking his way at all.

"I said…" He exhaled shakily as he remembered what he told Lori. "I said there's still a life for us. There's more than death out there. And that… that we just have to be strong enough to still believe it."

"Hmm." Michonne closed her eyes, and she listened to Carl's faint heartbeat and Rick's anxious breathing. Sounds of life. "So what changed?"

He fell silent as he tried to think of the answer. Why, after everything they'd somehow survived, was he so willing to give up? He didn't have an answer, other than the fact that he was tired. He was tired of the fight, and maybe because it had, indeed, turned on him. And that brokenness in him, that damn broken vessel, had him giving up on the one reason he'd made it this far. "I don't know."

"Then you don't get to give up."

A fresh set of tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he rested his weary head at the edge of the bed. He placed his hand over Carl's chest, and he felt his heart weakly beating. He could feel Michonne's small movements as she caressed Carl's face. Signs of life. "I won't," he promised. His tears continued steadily, but he would hold onto hope until there was nothing left. He would have to just survive somehow.

And not long thereafter, as the sun crept into the room, bathing all three of them in its shine, a feeble cough became the brightest light Rick and Michonne could've asked for. Carl was awake.


	3. Always Accountable

**Chapter 3  
** **Always Accountable**

"Please stop staring at me like that."

Rick smiled at the sound of his son's groggy voice as he came to from another nap, unable to contain his relief that his son would live to see another day. He'd been awake for a full 4 hours, and Rick simply couldn't get enough of the sight of him. "I'm never gonna stop staring at you, son." He cupped the side of his face that wasn't injured, his thumb rubbing at the kid's chin. "You scared the shit outta me."

"I'm sorry," he said, glancing downward with the one eye he had left.

"Don't ever be sorry," Rick shot back, releasing his grip. "Not for coming back."

"It all feels like a blur," he mumbled. His head was pounding, and he wasn't even sure he was fully awake, but he continued to talk. "But I know that I went about a lot of things the wrong way and put us both in danger."

He frowned at Carl's assessment of the situation, especially when he was the one that felt as though he'd put everyone in danger. "Carl, this had nothing to do with you."

"No, it did," he said, attempting to sit up in his bed so that he could talk to his father straight. "I… I told you it was okay with Ron, and it wasn't. Because I thought I could handle him. And I couldn't."

"I know that," Rick nodded. He rested his hand over Carl's as he looked up at him, catching his ice blue stare. "Of course I knew that. It's my job to know that."

"So when I said it was okay..."

"If walkers hadn't been trying to get into the house, that would've been a bigger conversation, but I knew it wasn't as okay as you wanted to make it seem. It was obvious you two had been fighting."

"He hates us both," he mused sadly. "And I don't know what's gonna happen now that his whole family is gone."

Rick wasn't sure how to say that Ron was gone now, too. To add more death on top of all the destruction that had plagued them. To temper their good with more bad. "Carl..."

He scanned his dad's face for signs of why his voice had lowered the way it did, and then he realized... "What happened to him?"

"After he shot you, it was just…" Rick bit the inside of his cheek as he recalled the gruesome scene. "It was like a reflex. Michonne and I both. I pointed my gun, but she had already taken him out with her sword."

"Shit," Carl sighed, resting his head against his pillow as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I know."

"He was nice," he said. "He welcomed me here, no questions asked, y'know?"

"I do know," Rick whispered, rubbing at his own forehead. "I remember."

"He just, he was sad. He was angry. Like the way I was after Mom died."

"That was how you saw it?"

"I think that's why I tried so hard to be patient with him," he nodded. "I got it." Carl realized then that it was a good thing the kid he shot from Woodbury didn't have the same kind of family he did. Or he could've been dead like Ron. "That sucks."

"It does," Rick agreed. His thoughts brought him to Jessie and her boys, how he said he could protect them. But when it came down to it, it was his own family that came first, and he never made that clear to her. When she asked if he would save anybody else, the clear answer was yes, and he proved it in spades when shit hit the fan, and the only thing that mattered to him was that Carl and Judith, and that Michonne was by his side. He exhaled heavily as he replayed the events of the day before; how he let her die so his kids could live.

"You okay, Dad?"

He smiled at his son, not wanting him to feel his sadness. "I'm fine," he promised, rubbing his thumb along Carl's hand. "I'm more than fine now."

"I know you liked Jessie," he submitted to the conversation cautiously. "As more than just a friend, I mean."

"Yeah," he nodded.

"So you must be sad about it."

"What happened to her was sad." He cleared his throat, feeling more sad for the fact that he didn't feel anything about her death. He didn't feel especially bothered by it. No brokenness, no missing pieces. Perhaps because he had been feeling that way anyway. Or because she never evoked much in him in the first place, other than escape. Once he realized there was no way out, he was left with very little connection to Jessie. He never quite let her in, and so, it was much easier to let her go. "I wish it hadn't gone the way it did. But I don't know if I knew her long enough or well enough to dwell on it."

Carl nodded thoughtfully, hoping that meant his father wouldn't devolve back into being batshit crazy like he had been when his mom died. Maybe, since he was okay, his dad would be, too. "Where's Mom?" he wondered, deciding he wanted a change of subject.

Rick narrowed his eyes at the question, trying to gauge whether his kid was being facetious or if he was genuinely confused. Perhaps the pain medication had jumbled his memories. He hoped. He wasn't sure how they would handle anything worse than that. "Excuse me?"

"Where's Michonne?" he said, thinking he was repeating himself. "Should I not ask that?"

He let out a light sigh of relief, affectionately rubbing his cheek again. "You said 'Mom' the first time."

"Did I?" he asked, scrunching up his nose.

"You did."

"Well you knew what I meant."

Rick could only chuckle as he stood from his seat to pull his walkie-talkie from his belt. "I'll tell her to come on down when she has a minute," he offered. "You want anything from the house?"

Carl only shook his head. He just wanted to see his friend.

"All right," he said. He gave him a small look of concern, but decided not to pry as he pressed the button to talk. "Michonne," he called softly, trying to avoid startling her, "you there?"

After a few seconds and some static, her voice came back through. "I'm here," she answered, sounding rushed. "What's wrong?"

He grinned at the fact that she was always at the ready. And that for once, absolutely nothing was wrong. "Nothin'," he assured her. "Carl was just wondering when you were comin' back."

"Oh. Well I can come back now if he wants."

"I think we'd both like that."

"Why does it sound like you're smiling," she asked skeptically. "What are you up to, Rick?"

He chuckled at her distrust of him, and the fact that she could so easily detect the happiness in his voice. "What could I possibly be up to, Michonne?"

"I don't know. I just know you sound weird."

"Well get down here and find out for yourself."

"All right," she conceded, and it sounded as though she were smiling herself. "Gimme a few minutes."

"We'll be here," he finished. He finally looked back at Carl as their conversation ended, oblivious to the fact that his son had been staring at him the entire time. "What?"

"Were you just flirting with Michonne?"

"...No," he frowned.

"You totally were," Carl grinned at him, watching in amusement as his dad began to blush. "Now that Jessie is gone, you're gonna give it a try with Michonne again?"

"Again?" he laughed, his eyebrows raised in surprise. That information was brand new to him. "When did I supposedly try the first time?"

"Well I don't know if you _tried_ back at the prison. I think it was probably too close to Mom. But I know why you wanted her to stick around, Dad."

"You just know everything, huh?"

"Carol says I know too much for my own good."

"Yeah, well, she's right." He retrieved Carl's empty cup from his table, gently brushing his head before turning for the kitchen. "I'll let you believe what you want about that. But now that Jessie is gone, my focus will be where it should be. On you and Judith. On making Alexandria a home, like we had at the prison."

Carl was glad to hear that, because it meant his dad and Michonne might finally end up the way they were supposed to. That maybe, with a little more time, they would figure out what he'd known all along. Even if it meant he would have to go back to farming. He watched for a moment as his dad moved around the kitchen, and even though the infirmary wasn't their actual home, it still felt so familiar to him.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?" Rick distractedly replied as he retrieved water from the fridge.

"Do you think Judith will be scared of me?"

He couldn't help but stop what he was doing, nearly feeling thrown to the floor by the question. He swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the counter as he gazed over to his son. "Is that why you didn't ask to see her?"

He looked down in shame, not wanting to see the disappointment on his dad's face. "I don't want her to see me like this," he admitted quietly.

"Carl..."

"I know she'll have to eventually. I just... not yet. Not today."

"Your sister knows you, Carl. She loves you."

"I know," he nodded.

"Then why-"

"I just don't want her to cry when she sees me," he insisted, still staring down at his hands. "I can deal with a lot. Losing Mom, missing an eye. All right. But I don't know if I'm ready to deal with that yet."

Rick nodded back understandingly. He appreciated his honesty, even if it broke his heart to hear it. "Okay," he agreed. "All right."

* * *

Meanwhile, Michonne had done her best to keep her promise, forcing herself out of bed, as well as a much-needed nap, just a few minutes after Rick had summoned her. She wasn't going to keep Carl waiting. So she arrived to the infirmary, toting Judith, along with a change of clothes for Carl, and she walked inside, finding that it was not some elaborate trap – Carl, and more notably, Rick, were really and truly laughing. The sound was so rare and so pure, it made her smile before they even came into view.

"What are you two in here giggling about?" she greeted the duo. She couldn't help but notice that both of their faces fell the second they turned to her. "What?"

"Um," Rick stood from his seat, attempting to block Carl from Judith's view. "Hey."

Michonne immediately picked up on the odd behavior, and walked towards Carl. "What happened," she demanded, ignoring Rick's advance. "Are you okay?"

"Michonne, I-" Carl began to protest her bringing Judith any closer, but he stopped mid-sentence when his baby sister's little hands reached out for him. He felt his eye begin to water, and a slight stinging on the other side of his head that he disregarded to take her into his arms. "Hey, Jude," he sniffled.

The baby cooed happily as she was transferred from Michonne to her big brother, pulling at his hair once it was within reach. She loved his hair. "Car," she burbled in an adorable attempt to say his name.

Rick looked on in happy relief, while Michonne remained confused. "What the hell is wrong," she repeated, worried that no one had said anything yet.

"I was scared," Carl revealed, wiping at his eye as Judith balanced herself in his lap, still reaching for his long locks. "That she would be scared of me."

"Judith has stared in the face of walkers. Not to mention, your dad's beard," she joked, glancing at Rick just in time to see him playfully roll his eyes. "She's not gonna be scared of you in some bandage."

"I guess you're right," he smiled shyly.

Michonne pulled up her usual chair, right next to Rick's, and she took her seat; she noticed that he had water, his pills, and some ice chips were nearby. "In all seriousness, how are you feeling?"

"My head is killing me," he had to admit, though he had been trying to ignore it. "And it's a little hot in here."

"It's hot everywhere," Rick inserted as he felt Carl's forehead. "For some reason, I thought summer would be less brutal up north."

"I think it's worse," she shook her head. "I had to take a cold shower before I laid down for my nap."

Rick quirked an eyebrow at her admission, given that he generally employed cold showers for a very different reason. "Yeah, I'm sure it was just because it's hot out."

"You should give it a try sometime," she smirked, well aware of what his sarcastic tone was implying. "It's very refreshing."

"I can imagine."

"That is one thing I definitely don't miss about the prison," Carl cut in, completely ignorant to the innuendo being thrown around. "Cold water with random clumps of mud every now and then."

"You mean you didn't like your mud baths?" Michonne smiled at him, amused. "So spoiled."

"Well, I do have it good," he said, glancing back and forth between his dad, his sister, and Michonne. "Even when it's bad."

Rick stared at his son, moved by the way he managed to still look on the bright side, even when he had only one eye to see it with. He must have gotten that from Michonne, because it was something he perpetually struggled with himself. The two of them, the eternal optimists. He wondered if Judith would end up being more like him, a little bit darker, harder. He let out a sigh as he observed his children together. "So now that you know Judy doesn't think you're a monster, is there anything else you want from home?"

"Comic books?" Michonne submitted. "Or we can bring the laptop over so you can watch movies."

"I dunno," he shrugged. "I guess you can bring Prisoner of Azkaban from my dresser. I had been reading it to Judith the past few nights before bed."

"Got it," she winked, loving that he read to his sister. "I brought you a change of clothes, by the way. Just in case that t-shirt was starting to get old."

He chuckled as he glanced down at the giant shirt he was draped in. "You mean my hospital gown?"

"Yeah, that," she grinned. "Just in case."

"Okay. But just because you're bringing me stuff doesn't mean you guys get to leave me here alone all the time."

"We'll be here," Rick promised for himself and Michonne. "We're here as long as you want us."

"We'll take turns," Michonne agreed, softly rubbing his lower leg from where she sat. "If that's okay with you."

"I'm good with that."

Rick smiled at their arrangement, also patting his son's torso before standing to retrieve Judith. "Has she eaten?" he looked to Michonne.

She nodded, readjusting the infant's sundress as he sat back down with her. "Carol said she'd given her some macaroni just before we left."

"Macaroni?" Carl piped up excitedly. "Was there any more?"

"Sorry, kiddo. I honestly don't know."

"Oh yeah, I forgot how much you hate Carol's cooking."

Rick glanced at Michonne, surprised to hear the news. Suddenly, the optimist didn't sound so optimistic anymore. "Really now?"

"That's not..." She jokingly glared at Carl and looked back at Rick innocently. "I don't know what he's talking about."

"You literally said you hate all her casseroles."

"Carl!"

"And those cookies."

Rick laughed heartily, while Judith giggled along with him. "So do you really like my oatmeal, or is that a giant rouse, too?"

"Shut up," she chuckled, poking him in his thigh. "And you were not supposed to tell anyone that I said that," she directed to Carl. "How you just gonna sell me out like that?"

He shrugged feigning ignorance, an enormous smile taking over his young face. "I felt like Dad needed to know."

"And I feel like you're being messy."

"I mean, what if, like, he decides to bring over some food while you're here one day? He should know that you would rather eat your fingernails than Carol's spring cleaning casserole."

"I'm gonna get you," she promised, trying to suppress her smile as Rick and Judy continued to laugh at their exchange. And it hit her then, in that exact moment, with the four of them grinning from ear to ear, that this was what she hoped her life would be. People to love. People that loved her back. And she knew she had that in a very general sense, and it included Carol and Daryl and Maggie and Glenn. She cared for them deeply, and knew it was mutual. But it was something very different than what she shared with the Grimes'. The way they laughed together, the way they cried together. She was reminded of Deanna asking her what she wanted, and finally, the picture was beginning to come together in her mind. It looked like this.

"I guess I'm gonna have to be careful what I tell you from now on," Rick noted, shaking his head at Carl. "That was brutal."

"Right?" Michonne exclaimed. "Just put me on blast."

"I'm really just looking out for you, Michonne. I don't want you to have to eat your nails."

She nodded, understanding that he was going to continue firing shots at her the more she protested. "Just remember this when you want somebody to bring you something and I'm the only one home. Because I'm gonna remember it."

"I already know you wouldn't deprive an injured child of your love and care."

"You think you know that."

"Well how about if I tell you one of my dad's secrets? Would that make us even?"

"Now hold on a minute," Rick immediately interjected. He was all right with Michonne being the target, but he wasn't sure he was ready for whatever beans Carl had to spill. His son had a pretty big arsenal on him. "How'd I get dragged into this?"

"I'm just making it fair, Dad."

"I'm pretty sure I know all your dad's secrets already," Michonne said, glancing Rick's way as she contemplated the deal. "But sure. Try me."

"My dad doesn't want you to know this, so I don't think you do."

Rick narrowed his eyes at his son, wondering if he was going where he thought with this. "Carl..."

Michonne was more intrigued than ever when she saw that Rick was practically squirming in his seat. "Well what is it?"

"So you remember when we went back to our hometown last year for the weapons run?" Carl asked.

"Yeah..."

"And I'm sure you remember how we were up at Morgan's place, and you took some of his food."

"Yeah..." Michonne's voice got lower as she realized where this was headed.

"Carl," Rick called out to him again.

"Well that night Morgan got here, he was at our house for a while. We were talking about random stuff, and out of nowhere, he asked me if I took his protein bar," Carl went on, despite his father's ongoing protests. "And I said no, and he left it at that. So then he asks my dad, and he says no, and he left it at that. I mean, it seemed like it was done; everything was fine. I figured maybe he would ask you about it and you could just say no, too. But my dad..." He shook his head disappointedly as he pointed to his father, " _he_ brought it back up after it was over, and he told Morgan that if any of his food was missing, you were the one that took it."

"Carl!"

"Rick!" Michonne rolled her head and her eyes in his direction, in disbelief that he'd tattled on her. "Seriously?"

Rick nervously bit his lip while it was his turn to glare at his son. "Okay," he nodded guiltily. "Yeah. I did that."

"You're a snitch!"

"Hold on," he tried to rebut, knowing he had no defense for himself. "I was just... I - I wanted him to trust me."

"He already trusted you!" She harshly punched him in the thigh again, and this time, Judith followed suit. "And you stood there like a mute when he asked me about that stupid protein bar. You're a fucking snitch, and you're raising your son to be one, too."

"Now wait a minute," Carl inserted, "I was just putting the truth out there."

"Spoken like a true snitch," Michonne quipped. "Let the record show, Judith and I were at home minding our own business when you called me down here."

"Well you've successfully turned her against me," Rick joked as his daughter continued to pound at his leg, "so I'd say we're about even."

"Oh, you think we're even?" she grinned mockingly at the two of them. "That's really cute."

Carl had raised his hand to protest, but the front door opened, filling the room with more heat and sunlight, and all four of them, turned to the sound. They expected to find Denise, coming to do her routine check in on Carl, but much to everyone's surprise, it was Enid.

"Hey," she greeted the smiling foursome, a bit taken aback by all their happy faces. "I… didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's all right," Rick waved her in. "We're just bein' silly."

"I just wanted to see how Carl was doing," she said, tentatively stepping farther into the room. "I heard he was awake, so I thought I'd see if he wanted some company."

Carl was unable to contain his smile as he took in the sight of his friend. Once the herd had taken over everything outside the gates, he had resigned himself to never seeing her again. "I didn't know you were back."

"I came back with Glenn." She smiled timidly at Judith as she passed where Rick and Michonne were sitting. "We finally got inside the gates last night."

"In the middle of the herd?"

"Most of it was gone by midnight," she shrugged. "Daryl's group came back with a shit ton of ammo. Like RPGs and stuff. I wish you could've seen it."

He chuckled, though he was a bit jealous he'd missed what had to be an epic end to the herd. "Sounds like Call of Duty."

"I mean, pretty much. It was insane." Enid's eyes darted to the floor when she realized how redundant it was to say that to Carl when he was the one amongst all the survivors to pay the biggest price. "But you already know that..."

"Carl, we're gonna head home," Rick declared before the kids got too deep into their discussion. It was clear Carl didn't need him much at the moment. He placed his walkie at Carl's side, lightly squeezing his shoulder, while Judith attempted to reach for him again, too. "You call down there if you need anything, all right?"

"Okay, Dad."

Michonne stood to leave as well, holding Carl's hand as she moved into the spot Rick occupied to give the teenager a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'll bring you some macaroni when I come back," she winked.

He smiled at her joke, watching as she and his dad and sister disappeared from the room. He felt his face tingling as he switched his focus back to Enid. "It's so weird, I have one eye, but I'm seeing two of you right now."

She frowned in concern, unable to stop staring at the right side of his face, covered in gauze. "Should I go find that doctor?"

"It'll go away," he shook his head. "She says it's my brain just trying to reformat what it knows."

"Does it hurt?"

"It's like a dull headache for the most part. Sometimes a shooting pain, but it's not too bad. I know it could be worse."

"Only you would be able to find the bright side in this," she rolled her eyes. She threw off her backpack and walked around the bed to claim the seat Rick had been sitting in. "I brought you my iPod, but I didn't get a chance to charge it."

"Well thanks for nothing," he teased.

"Mikey said he wanted you to have his DSi while you're in here," she added, pulling the handheld game from her bag. "I brought cards. Some Chronicles of Narnia. A pen and some paper." She was piling all of the named items onto his bed faster than he could catch them. "I wasn't sure how long you were gonna be here, so I just brought everything."

Carl sat there stupefied, but grateful that she had gone to all this trouble for him. "Thank you," he nodded, catching a ziplock bag of pretzels that she'd thrown at him. "I don't know when I'm getting out either, but my dad thinks it'll be at least a week."

"A week in bed? That sucks."

"And then I have to relearn a bunch of stuff, like how to shoot. It's gonna be a long way back to normal."

"It's been eight months for me, and I'm still waiting for things to be 'normal' again. It's not gonna happen."

He quickly decided to relent, not wanting to argue about it. "I guess it just depends on your definition of normal."

"Guess so." Taking a look around the large room, she sat back in her chair and used the edge of Carl's bed as a footrest. "You mind if I ask you something personal?"

"It'd be a welcome change from me asking you all the questions," he smirked. He was sorting through all his new loot as he waited for her to speak. "Shoot."

"So I know Rick is your real dad, but all the other people you came here with... Do they tell you what to do, too?"

"Umm. What?" he laughed, confused by the question.

"I mean, if they told you to... I dunno, stay in the house," she suggested, staring at him intently. "Would you listen?"

"I guess." He continued chuckling nervously, unsure of what she was getting at.

She could tell he didn't understand, and it was irritating her that she couldn't express herself better. She rolled her eyes as she tried rephrasing her question. "I guess I'm asking what it's like to have this new family. Like, do you think of them as your aunts and uncles? More parents? What's it like?"

"Oh," he sighed. "I mean, I guess I'd say Michonne is most like my mom. She takes care of me the most besides my dad. Carol is like an aunt," he shrugged. "She watches Judith a lot, mostly when I'm in class." He laughed as he tried to think of a title for Daryl. "I guess Daryl's like my cool uncle. I dunno. And… I think Glenn and Maggie are like my older brother and sister. They don't tell me what to do, but they look out for me."

She nodded, her gaze blank and fixated on the laces of her boots. "So you'd say Maggie and Glenn are cool?"

"Yeah, they're pretty awesome."

"And do you like having a new mom?"

"It's... yeah." He shrugged again, struggling to put his complicated feelings into words. "It's a little weird because it's not like my dad and Michonne are together or anything. So she's not my stepmom. But it's cool having that person that cares about the big things and the little things. She makes sure I don't get killed, of course, but... she makes sure that I have a life, too. She's the reason we even came to Alexandria," he smiled once more as he recalled how adamant she was against his dad. "I wasn't doing so great after my mom died," he intimated. "My dad wasn't either. There was a lot of stuff going on, but we met Michonne right when we needed to. And things have only gotten better since then. So yeah, I'd say I like it."

She accepted his answer thoughtfully, almost envying his ability to see things the way he did. He lost his mom not too long before she'd lost her parents, but he wasn't bitter. He wasn't sad. Not like her. And maybe it was because he still had a family. "I'm thinking about moving in next door to you," she casually declared, her gaze flitting up to Carl to see his reaction. "With Maggie and Glenn."

He looked up from fidgeting with the wire of his notepad, stunned by her revelation. "Really?"

"Maybe," she mumbled. "It's gotta be better than being at Olivia's. Having someone who gives a shit."

"Well Glenn and Maggie definitely give a shit."

"So you think it's a good idea?"

"I think it's a great idea. You said you were an orphan. Now you've got two really great people wanting to look after you." He nodded, happy for her; happy that maybe she wouldn't be so sad any more. "You're _almost_ as lucky as I am."

She smiled in a rare display of genuine contentment. "Shut up."

* * *

Later that night, a few hours after the sun had disappeared for the day, and everyone had settled in for the evening - including Carl, still at the infirmary with Enid - Michonne found herself sitting at the kitchen table with the plans Deanna had given her the morning before. The future, as it were. She had only glanced at them briefly before everything went to hell, but figured she should take a serious look before they began rebuilding. Assess their supplies, put names to tasks, and get the Safe Zone on the road to recovery.

She had begun scribbling her notes, and had gotten a bit lost in her work when she heard footsteps behind her. She knew it was Rick. He wasn't wearing his boots, but she knew that walk well. Felt that electric current. "Hey," she sent back to him, not looking up from her work.

He walked in to join her, pulling out the seat adjacent to her. "What are you doin'?"

She smirked as she got a whiff of his clean scent, then glanced up at him, seeing his curls pushed off of his face. He looked like some kind of ad for jeans, standing there in his white tee and Levi's, wet hair and bare feet. "Cold shower?" she guessed.

"It's hot as hell in this house," he conceded, smiling as he sat down.

"Uh huh." Michonne did have to admit the heat was still pretty uncomfortable, considering it was nearly 11:00 pm. She had already exchanged her day clothes for pajamas, which she typically reserved for her bedroom only. "I'm sure that was the only reason."

"Well you're sittin' here half naked, so I'd say my reasoning is pretty damn sound."

"Half naked? I'm wearing a shirt and shorts."

"A sleeveless shirt and shorts that are actual underwear," he noted, knocking her knee with his own. "That's a lot of skin." Rick's eyes zeroed in on her lips for a second, but his gaze was pulled downward to her tits, as it was clear she wasn't wearing a bra, and it was nearly impossible to look away. "Not that I'm complaining," he added, finally finding her face again.

"Of course," she smiled, having noticed his eager stare. She crossed her legs, trying not to allow his wandering eyes to make her any hotter than she already was. "Well, to answer your question, I was expanding these plans Deanna gave us."

"Expanding?" he repeated, glancing at the blueprint spread across the table. "On what?"

"You never looked at these, did you?"

"I didn't have a chance before..." He trailed off as he realized he was making excuses. "No."

Michonne turned the papers so that he could read them right side up, and then scooted her chair over so that they were side by side. They were so close, their thighs were touching and she could smell the toothpaste on his breath. She couldn't help but notice that he didn't move to give her more space, even though he could've. She expected him to. And given how hot it was, he probably should've. They simply remained that way. Close.

"So here's what Deanna had written," she pointed to the penciled writing in various spaces on the page. "Given we expand the wall, it would be perfect for a giant farm. Like what you and Hershel had at the prison."

He nodded, smiling at the thought of Hershel. And then, at the scent of Michonne's hair. Like almond or coconuts or something equally delicious. But he shook it away to continue studying the plans before he could get too distracted. He could see where she'd drawn up a church, a new armory, a daycare. A full community was on those pages. "You really think we can do all this?"

She passed him her notes, where she had started to expound on a timeline. "I imagine it'll take at least a year. Maybe longer since winter is on the horizon. It gets colder here a lot sooner, so..."

He nodded, skimming her notes and terrible handwriting. "Now that I know you were a writer, I just want you to know that your handwriting is inexcusable."

"Fuck you," she grinned. She grabbed her pen and began to write directly on the map while he went on examining her notes.

"I really can't read your writing, Michonne. What does this even say?"

"It very clearly says, 'jail,' Rick."

He stared at the word for a moment longer and shook his head. "Maybe you just write too fast. You oughta try slowin' down."

"Yes, Daddy," she replied sarcastically, and then immediately regretted it. It came out much more flirtatious than she intended. "Don't reply to that."

"I wasn't going to," he smirked, licking his lips as he resumed his reading. "This says, what? 'Expansion'?"

She leaned in to get a better look at her script, squinting at the entire line. "Yes."

He stared, wondering if she actually did know what it said, but dismissed it as he watched her excitedly scrawl across the page. Her brain seemed to be moving faster than her hands possibly could, and it made sense why he was looking at chicken-scratch. She was excited. And in turn, he was excited for her. "What do those arrows mean?" he asked, noticing several of them surrounding the Monroe home, as well as Jessie's and Tobin's.

"Well, these are both empty now," she said, pointing to the Andersons' and the home across the street. "I don't know if Spencer will want to stay in his family home alone, and if he does, that's fine. But that gives us a lot more space to spread out if we want to."

"You want space?" he asked, hoping to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Well not from you," she promised. "But we've got five adults in a four-bedroom house. Next door, there are seven of them."

"Because we wanted to be close…"

"And now, we don't need to be. We don't have to be on top of each other." Michonne pointed to another empty home, just beside Aaron and Eric's. It had belonged to David and Betsy, and it was hard not to think of what he'd said to her the day he died. How he reminded her of herself. She let out a quick breath to compose her rampant thoughts before going on. "You, me, and the kids," she proposed. "We could all have our own rooms." She then pointed to Tobin's old house, crossways from their current home. "Glenn, Maggie, maybe Tara decides to stay with them. They're gonna need space with their new baby."

Rick had never even considered that he could have more space. He certainly didn't need it. But he couldn't say it wouldn't be nice. As much as he loved his kids, as much as he was thankful for what he did have, a room of his own would have been ideal. For a variety of reasons. "The four of us, huh?"

"For now. If you want." She pushed her chair back from the table, using his shoulder for leverage as she stood. "At least, until you decide to get another girlfriend."

"That's very funny," he returned, biting his bottom lip as he watched her stroll those long legs of hers towards the kitchen. "She wasn't my girlfriend."

Michonne didn't reply to him, but silently went about finding a glass. She was pulling the ice tray from the freezer when Rick appeared in the threshold of the kitchen. "You want some water?"

"She wasn't my girlfriend," he repeated.

She nodded, watching as he leaned against the doorframe, and she inhaled sharply at the sight. She rolled her eyes, hating how sexy he was without even trying. "You said you didn't know what it was, but you're clear it wasn't that."

"It was just... an attraction." He rested his head against the wall too, wishing he had a better answer for it. "Some flirting here and there. A kiss the other night. But nothing serious."

She went to the sink, her fingers resting on the head of the faucet as she felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. She wasn't jealous. She didn't think she was, anyway. But the thought of Rick being with someone else had managed to rub her the wrong way. Perhaps because she wasn't sure where that left her. "So you never..."

"No," he shook his head, adamant in his answer. His left thumb involuntarily went to twisting his wedding ring around his finger as he stood there watching her. "Would it have bothered you if we had?"

She began to run the water, hoping it would drown out her thoughts. The ones screaming 'yes' at the back of her mind. "I don't know," she lied, filling up her glass.

"You sure about that?"

"I don't know what you want me to say here."

"Just the truth," he retorted, his eyes narrowing on her as he folded his arms over his chest. "I know we don't have any obligation to one another, but I don't know... I think I'll feel a certain way if and when you decide to date someone else."

She brought her glass from her lips and tilted her head, trying to read his expression. Trying to figure out if he meant what he was saying. "Really?"

"I think so," he nodded. "I mean, it's been us for a while now. You know? You, me, Carl, Judith. That's how we pulled up to these gates. It'll be weird when it's not like that anymore."

Michonne chuckled a bit contemptuously, because she could see that he didn't even realize he'd been doing that very thing with Jessie. That was what bothered her so much. She was okay if her latent attraction to him amounted to nothing. If the flirting didn't mean much to him, she could take that. But Rick was breaking up their family and wasn't going to even bother telling her. "So did you consider this when you were going around kissing Jessie?"

"I didn't think," he confessed. "Not the consequences for my kids or hers. Not what anyone else might think about it. Not really. I didn't consider the long term."

"You just wanted to escape," she recalled, rolling her eyes again. She took another sip of water and set her glass on the counter. She was no longer hot anymore, but felt rather cold, in fact.

"I know how it sounds," Rick proclaimed sincerely, moving into the kitchen, closer to where she stood. Too close to where she stood. "And I wanna be better," he said. "I see you with your optimism and all your plans for the future of this place. And Carl is... somehow, he's okay. I think he's gonna be okay. I just wanna be the father those kids deserve. I wanna lead this place the way these people deserve. I'm ready to be better."

She stared up at him, her fingers covering her mouth as she considered his declaration. The determined look in his eye said that he was begging her to believe him, and she knew she had to. And she did. "I'm glad to hear it," she replied, briefly resting her hand on his chest. He was breathing hard, she noticed. "Now you have to actually do it."

He nodded, closing his eyes as her touch melted from his chest. "We get to come back," he whispered for the second time that day.

She winced, feeling her eyes water; feeling simultaneously annoyed, hopeful, confused. She loved and hated how much of her own emotional state was wrapped up in this man. "Let's hope so," she said shortly, turning from the intimate scene to grab her glass.

"Michonne," he called after her before she could completely walk away from him.

She spun on her barefoot heel and faced him once more, waiting for him to speak.

"What are you gonna do?" he posed, leaning against the counter as he waited for her to answer.

"Excuse me?"

"You've got your plans for Alexandria. I've got my mission ahead of me." He had to actively stop himself from fiddling with his wedding ring again. "What about you? What does your future look like?"

She scoffed at the fact that she was being asked that question for the second time in two days. And now that she had a better idea of the answer, it was scaring the shit out of her. What if what she wanted didn't want her back? "I don't know," she lied once more. She stared at his feet in order to avoid his gaze.

"Michonne…"

She hated the way he said her name in that gruff drawl of his. "What?"

He had noticed that her tone was clipped, her body language completely the opposite of what it had been when they were sitting at the table. Now, she was retreating from him, maybe from the conversation. "Be honest."

"I just wanna be happy," she shook her head. "Whatever that means, however I have to get there… That's all."

He took her in one more time, from the top of her head, with her hair wrapped into its messy bun, down her lean, curvy frame until he reached her bare feet, noticing she had painted her toenails at some point in recent weeks. They were nearly the same color purple as her tank top, and it made him smile, because she had reached a level of comfort there that he hadn't yet. "Good for you." He nodded, happy for her; happy that maybe her goal wasn't so far out of reach. Maybe his wasn't either. "Now you have to actually do it."


	4. Thank You

**Chapter 4  
** **Thank You**

" _There used to be this saying that went, 'As soon as you have to cut down on your drinking, you have a drinking problem.' Well... I'm learning, I'm seeing that I need to cut down on my grief. I've been wallowing in it; now I'm drowning in it, and I need to let go. I need to let you go."_

 _Rick let out a soft exhale as he looked out to his neighborhood. He was sitting on the steps of his home – the one he would soon be leaving for what he hoped would be greener pastures down the street. The place was a mess. The remnants of rotted corpses still remained in the road, the stench having overtaken everything. It wasn't far from there that Jessie, Ron, and Sam died. Were killed, rather. Just a few feet up the block. The family he swore and failed to protect. They haunted him. Jessie's last words echoed in his head whenever he looked over to her house._ 'Don't leave us.'

" _You were good to me, Jessie. Probably better than I was to you. And sometimes, when we were together, I remembered who I used to be before everything changed. But I was pretending. Pretending I wasn't lost. Pretending there was more. I wanted to believe it was possible, living behind these walls. I wanted to believe that I'm not surrounded by the abandoned ruin of a dead civilization. I wanted to believe that it's still possible to get close to someone. But the truth is that that's a lie. It was all a lie. We were never right for each other, and I did you a great disservice by pretending that we were. I hope you can forgive me..."_

_He sighed again as he thought about what little time they'd spent together. He kept trying to piece together what attracted him to her in the first place, but repeatedly came up empty. His thoughts were a jumble of broken promises and empty platitudes, and images of her face, begging him to see her. Instead, all he saw was everything he lost; everything he kept trying to get back. He saw his dead wife. His grief. He stared at his hands, his wedding ring glistening back at him under the moonlight._

" _I think about you every day, Lori. In some form or another. In some ways, I think it's good. The kids are a reminder of what we had. Or is it 'have?' I don't even know. Is everything that existed between us gone because you're gone? I guess that's a problem in itself. I just don't know. I keep trying to leave you. I keep thinking I have. I thought I left you at the prison; I thought I'd said goodbye when your ghost finally went away. But the truth is, you're with me all the time. I carry you with me, wrapped around my finger as this tiny, constant reminder of what we lost. What we never had. So I'm realizing that I never really said goodbye. And maybe that's because I can't. The way things ended, just this incomplete sentence..._

_I tried to get better. I didn't wanna feel this way, so I took a shortcut when I met Jessie. I tried to get away. But it led me right back to you. Everything I've done for the past fifteen years has led me to you. But it can't be that way anymore. I know there's no going back. No fixing it. I keep saying I can come back, but I think I'm beyond repair. Maybe we all are. But I can't go on the way I'm living, and I don't have the power to die. So I have to move towards something. I have to try. So I'm letting go. I'm letting you go."_

_He removed his wedding ring, holding the tiny circle between his index finger and thumb. His stare went back and forth between his bare hand and the metal band, and he began to cry. Quietly. Almost silently. Doing his best to let his grief go._

" _I loved you, Lori. Even at the end. I hope you know that. I hope you know that I know you loved me, too. I wish I could see you one last time, even if just to say thank you. Even if just to hug you goodbye. If only there had been some way to know the last time was gonna be the last time... But I guess that's not how death works, is it?"_

_He wiped his freely flowing tears, sniffling as he stood and looked up to the starry midnight sky. "Wish me luck, all right?" he whispered, dropping his wedding ring into the pocket of his jeans. Figuratively burying it. "I think I'm gonna need it."_

* * *

Approximately a month had passed since the herd that nearly destroyed Alexandria. A month since Carl lost his eye. A month since the deaths of most of the Monroes and all of the Andersons. And in those four weeks, the community had shifted considerably, mostly under Michonne's direction. The streets were cleaned, walls rebuilt, and expansion was underway, complete with farmland for Rick and Maggie to tend.

Michonne and Rick decided to take advantage of the extra space and move into David and Betsy's former home; Glenn, Maggie, and Enid made plans to move into the Anderson's old house once the damage from the herd was repaired. The entire group would still be in close proximity, but they would also be afforded some much-deserved space after two years of having virtually none. Change was in the air.

Things had been going well so far. Since Carl's return home, two weeks prior, Rick had gotten better at being better. Waking up early to take care of Judith; farming throughout the morning; helping to train the Alexandrians in the afternoons; and his evenings were spent at home with his kids. It had been nice for him, letting someone else take the lead again. Sharing the responsibility with Michonne, in and outside of their home, it allowed him the space to breathe. And for the first time in months, he was.

"Good mornin'," Rick declared. He casually strolled into his kitchen with Judith on his hip, surprised to find Michonne there, sipping on coffee in her robe, as if she had nowhere to be. He had gotten used to her always having somewhere to be. "Do my eyes deceive me, or are you not in a rush this morning?"

She grinned at the sight of her two roommates, both of them looking adorable with their curly hair matted to their heads after what must've been a good night's sleep. "Well it is Sunday," she shrugged, gently placing her mug on the counter. "Not that the days of the week mean anything anymore, but..."

"But you still need days off," he nodded in understanding. "It's nice to see you home."

"You going out this morning?" She turned for the refrigerator to grab a jar of applesauce for the baby, knowing that was her usual breakfast.

"Just for a little while," he said as he grabbed a spoon from their utensil drawer. "Thought I'd let Judy get a little dirty before I give her a bath this mornin'."

Michonne smiled at the little one again, amused at the way she always managed to get so dirty, much in the same way as her father. She was just learning to walk, but somehow, the kid picked up dirt like a vacuum. Their last name was hilariously fitting. "Well you two have fun out there for me."

"You're more than welcome to join us," he offered, squinting in her direction as the rising sun filled the room as her backlight. "If you want to..."

She felt simultaneously vulnerable and giddy underneath his stare, and turned away, gazing at the empty stove instead. She hated the way he looked at her sometimes, because she didn't know what he was thinking. But then, she loved it for the exact same reason. "I should... stay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She turned back to their refrigerator, as if new items had somehow magically appeared inside of it. "I can make breakfast. And enjoy being lazy today."

He smirked at the very notion, finding it hard to imagine. "Well I'm guessing you haven't been lazy in a long time, so I'm not gonna make you feel too bad about declining."

"I appreciate that," she grinned. She watched with delight as Judith began to run her tiny fingers over Rick's newly grown facial hair, seemingly fascinated by it as she stared up at him. "I see someone likes Daddy's new beard."

"We talkin' about you or her?" Rick quipped, trying not to laugh at himself as he smiled at his daughter.

"That's very funny," she replied sarcastically, also doing her best not to laugh, hating how funny she found him at times.

"Oh wait, I forgot how my beard disgusts you."

"I never said that, Rick."

"Well you brought me back that razor," he reminded her, catching her gaze again as he leaned back against the counter. "And that was when it was tame."

"Ah, I forgot I did that." Her smile took over her face as she recalled how she would always bring back something or another for him and Carl. "What did I say about it? Your beard was waging a war?"

"You said my _face_ was _losing_ the war," he corrected her, grinning at the memory as well. "Which is somehow worse."

"Well okay," she conceded, tilting her head to examine his latest look. The beard, minus all the dirt, paired with some version of a haircut, looked quite nice on him. And the gray of his facial hair somehow made it better. She liked it. A lot. "I _may_ have been exaggerating at the time."

"So you're takin' that back?"

"I mean, after seeing how bad it can get? Yeah, maybe the war hadn't quite started yet," she chuckled in a way that showed the full range of her smile. "I have to admit, you've been looking rather… handsome lately."

"You be careful," he teased, trying not to blush. "Sounds like a compliment."

"Oh, don't act like it's so rare. I sure as hell compliment you more than you compliment me."

"I don't think that's true, Michonne."

"I know it's true," she continued to laugh, shaking her head at how selective his memory apparently was. "For the record, staring down my shirt is not a compliment."

He hated to laugh, but he couldn't help but find her funny, even at his own expense. "I beg to differ," he shot back, "but all right. If you need my verbal approval, you've got it."

She was unable to keep the smile off of her face, and didn't have a comeback to show for it. "You know what?"

"What?"

"Get outta my kitchen."

"Well it's my kitchen, too," he playfully challenged her, his eyes dancing around the brightly lit room.

"Not right now, it isn't." She grabbed the jar of applesauce and swiftly pulled a paper towel from its holder to hand over to him. "You take your baby and your applesauce and you go... in there," she instructed, pointing toward their living room.

"But Judith likes to eat in here."

"Judith likes to eat, period." Michonne continued to swat him away, while Judith proved her point, her little fingers grabbing at the lid of the applesauce her father was holding. "It's a beautiful morning. You two should eat on the porch."

"For the record," Rick declared, mocking her previous tone, "I'm not leaving because you're makin' me. But because I do wanna eat outside."

"Sure."

"And also for the record," he stopped to turn back to her, biting nervously at his lip as he considered what he was about to say, "it's nice to see you in the morning. Like this. First thing," he nodded. "And I know this'll probably sound strange, but... I just couldn't help but notice how radiant you are." He let out an inaudible breath, his eyes studying her face and its dewy, glowing skin. "You look like the sun."

"I…" Michonne's breath caught in her throat as she watched him disappear without another word, not even waiting for her reaction. And she immediately frowned, feeling the threat of tears wanting to consume her. It was such an unexpected, lovely compliment, Rick had literally rendered her speechless. She stood there, watching from the kitchen doorway as he and Judith got settled on the front porch, and became so engrossed in the two of them that she hadn't noticed Carl trample downstairs and into her orbit.

"Hey," he mumbled, taking a seat at the table in their new breakfast nook.

Startled, she turned to him as she wiped her watery eyes. "Hey, you."

"Surprised you're here," he noted as he stared at the empty table. As of late, she was typically gone by the time he awoke, and for breakfast, he would eat cereal that she left out for him.

"Day off," she grinned, moving closer to the table to better greet him. "I was gonna make some breakfast, if you're interested."

"I was kinda ready for cereal."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, turning back for the refrigerator. "I was gonna make some fried apples... Some cinnamon toast..."

Carl kept his eyes on the table as he declined her offer again. "I'm good with just cereal."

"Okay..." It was clear that he wasn't in the greatest of moods, so Michonne had no plans on coercing him to do otherwise. Instead, she continued to putter around the kitchen, finding the ingredients she needed for her meal. But when she noticed he hadn't moved, she turned back toward him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine?"

"Well did the table do something to you? Because you're staring at it pretty hard."

"I was just waiting," he mumbled again, finally looking her way.

"For..."

"For the cereal. And a bowl."

"Oh." She glanced into the pantry where the cereal was normally kept, and then moved to the cabinet where their plates and bowls were stored. "Well they don't appear to be moving on their own. I don't know if you were using magic, or what, but…"

He let out a sharp sigh, standing from his seat with obvious exasperation as he brushed his hair into his face. "Would it have really been that hard to grab the box?" he said. He stormed across the kitchen for the Cheerios, making sure to slam the pantry door once he was done.

Michonne watched him throw his tantrum, waiting patiently until he was back in his seat. "You wanna give me your temper?" When his apparent scowl didn't seem to be fading, she walked back over to the table. "What's wrong, Carl?"

"Nothing," he exhaled.

"If you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But don't lie."

He went on to pour his cereal, but became frustrated again when he realized he forgot to mix some milk for himself. Another sigh, another huff as he stood again. "Please tell me we have milk here."

"It was right next to the cereal," she smirked. "But you can have what's left in the refrigerator if you tell me what's up."

He looked at her with a softer stare, albeit still obviously annoyed. "It's stupid."

"Let's hear it anyway."

He took a deep breath, reclaiming his seat as he rested his hands on the table. He knew she would make fun of him for what he was going to say, but there was no point in trying to hide it from her. He knew that she hated seeing him in a bad mood. "I'm having a bad hair day," he finally confessed.

She did her best not to roll her eyes as she took in his fluffy, unruly mane, looking about the same as it did any other day. "You've been having a bad hair day since I met you."

In turn, Carl had to work to maintain his grimace even though he felt himself wanting to laugh. "You're not funny."

"Neither are you," she said, shuffling to the fridge to grab the milk for him. "You were right that it was stupid."

"Enid was gonna come over today," he answered as if that were supposed to explain it away. "She's gonna see me like this."

"I don't know why you think everyone is so scared and disgusted by you all of a sudden, but you have to stop this."

"Half my face is missing, Michonne."

"Yeah. And that sucks." She also pulled the sugar bowl from the counter and passed it to him, along with a spoon. "But I've never taken you as someone to feel sorry for themselves."

"Well it helped that I wasn't ugly before," he muttered, only half-joking as he shoved his spoon into his stale cereal. "Can you tell Enid I'm sick?"

She stared at the teenager for a few seconds as he somberly ate his food. He had been through so much, it was almost unfathomable that he had been handling it as well as he had. She had chalked it up to luck, and Carl just being an amazing kid, but it made sense that he was regressing a bit. He was feeling this. And as much as she understood it, she still hated that it was hitting him this way. "You know, you surprised me at how optimistic you were when you first woke up," she started, still gazing at the side of his face as she took the seat beside him. "I guess all that's worn off now..."

"Well it's getting a little difficult to wake up every morning and look at this giant hole in my face."

"No, I get that," she said, tilting her head at him sympathetically. "But... you will get to wear an eye patch. That's pretty badass."

"Yeah, really looking forward to being the Governor," he quipped with a mouth full of food.

"All right," she chuckled, catching his sarcasm. "Well now you've got a built-in excuse for when I say you need to cut your hair."

He did have to admit that was probably the one benefit in the whole ordeal. "True..."

"I mean, you got shot in the face and lived to tell about it. And you've got the coolest battle scar imaginable. You're a fucking legend, kid." When she caught a hint of a smile, she leaned in to brush his hair further into his face, the way he liked it even before his scar. "Yes, this changes your looks," she granted, softening her tone. "You were an attractive kid before, and you're still attractive now. But you've always been more than that. So don't think you get to use this as an excuse to be less than that now." She stood from her seat to leave him to his breakfast and resume her task of preparing her own. But she turned back to him to add, "And don't stomp around my house anymore."

Carl finally smiled a genuine smile as he continued to eat his cereal, while she gathered her pans and spices for her food. A few minutes of comfortable silence ensued, him staring out of the window at the steel wall that was their backyard. "Hey, Michonne?" he called out to his friend.

"Yes," she answered, distractedly slicing her collection of green apples as she waited for him to respond.

"I do want some of whatever you're making."

Michonne smirked at how erratic he was becoming in his older age. And in her conversations with Maggie, it seemed that she was having the same trouble with Enid, so this was mostly a symptom of adolescence, it seemed. This was what she'd signed up for when she told Rick she was done taking breaks. "You're a trip, you know."

"Yes, I think you've said so before," he grinned at her smugly.

"Sometimes I look at you and wonder if this is what it would've been like with Andre."

Carl gazed at her, almost surprised she was speaking about her son so openly. The smile on her face made him smile, too. "Really?"

"In a good way," she nodded. "I mean, he was a long way from being your age, but I think about it. What he would've looked like. I think he would've been bright and curious, like you."

"So I remind you of him?"

"You do."

"Cool." He resumed his staring out of the back window, while Michonne went on to heat her skillet and start preparing her toast. But it wasn't long before Carl had another question. "Hey, Michonne?"

"Yes, Carl?"

"Do you want another baby?" he questioned cautiously. "Like, do you ever think about it?"

She stopped what she was doing altogether, and her gaze involuntarily went to the porch again, where Rick and Judith were sitting. She turned back to Carl with a confused frown, feeling jolted by the question. "What?"

"Just wondering," he innocently shrugged.

"I haven't thought about much outside of trying to stay alive." It was only sort of a lie; she had only recently started thinking of what she wanted for the long-term, and she had yet to come up with anything concrete. And there were certainly no thoughts of having children.

"But you said you wanted to come here so we could have lives," Carl pressed. "You haven't even considered what that might mean?"

She looked back to Rick again, and she felt her face growing warm as ideas started to flood her brain. "You and Judith are more than enough for me," she finally answered, again, only halfway lying. They weren't hers, but she certainly felt close to them. Close enough to say she was theirs, at least.

Carl nodded, accepting her answer with a bit of relief. "So you're in this for the long haul."

"Well we just moved in this house together, so... yeah," she laughed lightly. Nervously. "Something like that."

"So..." He sighed, unsure how she would receive what he was about to say next. He would probably be overstepping his boundaries, and he knew it, but he was tired of waiting for his dad to get it together, so it would have to be Michonne. "Why don't you tell my dad how you feel?"

She frowned at him again, suddenly feeling uncomfortably exposed. Undressed in front of a fifteen year old. "Excuse me?"

"Are you afraid to tell him?"

"Carl..." she sighed.

"Please don't say my name like that," he returned. He could see her discomfort, and he figured it meant he was hitting close to home. "You sound like Dad."

"Why don't you maybe mind your business," she tried to smile, hoping to lighten the conversation. "Try that for once."

"Anyone with eyes can see that you two should be together," he went on, consciously ignoring her attempts to evade him. "Anyone with one eye can," he added as a joke. "...But my dad is never gonna make the first move."

She had gone back to cooking, but Carl's assertion that she would have to make the first move did give her pause. She still wasn't even sure that a move needed to be made, but she had certainly been having thoughts. Questioning whether she would ever approach him first. Whether she even could. But the idea that she would _have_ to... "And why is that?" she wondered.

"Because he doesn't take chances anymore."

"Even though he took one with Jessie," she quipped before even considering what she was saying.

Carl shrugged as he stood from the table, collecting his bowl as he headed to the sink. "I'm not sure if it's the same thing. It's not much of a chance if you don't care how it turns out, right?"

Michonne scoffed at how annoyingly perceptive this kid tended to be. She had always thought so, but the closer they became, the more impossible it was to escape his watchful eye. "I'm not afraid, necessarily," she intimated. Full honesty there. "I'm just... treading lightly. Whatever happens, _if_ it happens, we can't afford to make any mistakes."

"So you're saying you don't take chances either," he sighed. "Great."

"What's it to you?"

"I know I'm young, so you guys think I don't know anything, but I've almost died twice now-"

"I guarantee you, no one thinks that," she smiled as she moved toward their oven. "But go on."

"Well maybe you guys are just too blind to see you're in your own way," he shook his head. "But you don't have time for doubts these days, Michonne. I don't know if we ever did. But nowadays, you have to _do_ things. You have to act. And you have to do them before the world makes the decision for you."

Michonne looked back at Carl, feeling her heart swell as she digested his words. And as she took in the moment, standing there in this home she shared with this man and his children, it was hard to ignore the blinking neon signs saying that this was the move to make. This was what she wanted. People kept asking the question, and the answer was staring her in the goddamn face. Right within her grasp. All she had to do was take it.

* * *

 _Let me be patient, let me be kind_  
_Make me unselfish without being blind_  
_Though I may suffer, I'll envy it not  
_ _And endure what comes 'cause he's all that I got_

Later that evening, as Michonne's much-needed lazy Sunday came to a close, and the family finished their dinner and a movie, everyone had dispersed to retire for the night. Carl in his room, Judith next door in hers. Rick was passing by Michonne's open bedroom door on the way to his own, and he couldn't help but notice her standing there. She was turned to her dresser, seemingly preoccupied with something or another, and he smiled at the sight of her. Her frame, her form, the way her hair fell to hide her face. The way her lamp illuminated her, the shades of dark and light, she looked like a painting; a chiaroscuro. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then realized he didn't want to interrupt her. So instead, he quietly began to retreat, just as Michonne turned around, toting a small plastic case in her hands. "You know if we have any peroxide left?" she greeted him, not at all surprised to see him there. She had already felt him.

"I'm... I'm not sure," he stammered, stepping further into her room as she approached him. "I think we took three from the infirmary. I can't remember whether we've been through two or three."

"Me neither," she said, practically breezing past him as she headed out of the door towards the bathroom. "Remind me to tell Glenn we need more," she submitted from the room next door. "Or Tara, I guess."

Rick followed behind, watching as she crouched in front of the cabinet in her search. He realized she was preparing to clean Carl's wound for the night - something she often did without him ever having to ask her. Everything she did for him and his kids was without him having to ask. "Listen, I know you probably get tired of me sayin' this," he started, his fingers fidgeting with the loose thread of a cloth peeking out from the cleaning kit, "but I can't thank you enough for being here through all of this. It means a lot that I haven't had to do this alone." He paused and swallowed hard when she stood up to face him, and suddenly, they were looking each other in the eye. He always got so lost in her stare, and this was no different. He almost forgot what he wanted to say. "I, um... it's been a strange journey for me, being a single father," he went on, nodding awkwardly, "but you've been here these past few months. You've been with me, reminding me why I can't give up. So I just wanna… thank you. Thank you for believing, Michonne."

She inhaled sharply at his last sentence, as she recalled her last words with Deanna. And again, their conversation flooded her brain, and so did the talk she'd had earlier in the day with Carl. And something amidst all those thoughts was telling her that this was it. _What do you want?_ Well, she had figured it out.

 _Now I may have faith to make mountains fall_  
_But if I lack love, then I am nothing at all_  
_I can give away everything I possess_  
_But am without love, then I have no happiness_  
_I know I'm imperfect and not without sin_  
_And now that I'm older, all childish things end  
_ _And tell him_

"I said that to Deanna when she was... going," she revealed, wishing she could hide the nervous smile behind her quivering lips. "'Thank you for believing,' I said. I guess it's easy to forget the power of positivity."

He nodded in agreement, and leaned against the bathroom counter when it was clear she had something she wanted to say.

"In response," she continued, "she told me to figure out what I wanted for myself. For my life. Same thing you asked me before we moved here." She looked down at the floor, still trying to maintain her nerve before gazing up and at him again. "And I keep looking around, trying to find the answer, when it's been staring me in the face all along."

Rick felt his pulse quicken and his stomach drop when he realized where she might've been headed with this. "In what way?"

 _Tell him I need him, tell him I love him_  
_And it'll be all right_  
_Tell him_  
_Tell him I need him, tell him I love him  
_ _It'll be all right_

Michonne sighed again, shakily, hating how nerve-wracking this was for her. She hadn't been so great with opening up for some time now, and here she was about to pour her heart out. But it was time to stop hiding from happiness. "I've always liked you, Rick." She had to look down to avoid those mesmerizing blues of his. It felt as though they were staring through her. "Even when I would go out on the road to get away, I would think about you. You and Carl. Wondering what you were doing. My buddies." She smiled as she reminisced on those simpler, lonelier days. "And I've always seen you for exactly who you are. Loving. Loyal. Lethal." She focused on his hands, gripping the edge of the counter, looking as though he was holding on for dear life. As though he was just as scared of what she was saying as she was. Her eyes were drawn to his left ring finger, empty now. It had been for weeks, but somehow, it was only then that she grasped what that meant. That he had finally let go of Lori. And it made what she had to say just a little bit easier.

 _I'll never be jealous, and I won't be too proud  
_ ' _Cause love is not boastful, and love is not loud_  
_Tell him I need him, tell him I love him_

"I love you," she declared. "I know that. I think you know that." She swallowed visibly as her eyes landed back on him, and she tried not to be moved by the way his stare was consuming her whole. "But I'm realizing that it's more than that. It's more than familial or platonic. It's more than, 'I love your kids, let's be roommates...'" Her cadence began to slow when Rick stood up straight, towering over her in that perfect way that he did, and brought his hand to her face. "I keep saying I don't know what I want. But the truth? I want-"

Michonne's sentence was cut off by Rick's thumb on her bottom lip. She lost her train of thought, her will to keep speaking, and eventually, all of her senses when she realized he was going to kiss her. And he did, his mouth covering hers slowly. Both of them closing their eyes, his hand passionately gripping her face as she melted into him. He moaned softly at the feel of her pillowy lips, nearly overwhelming him, and his tongue snuck past them to lock with hers. She pressed her entire body against him and their kiss deepened, the urgency from both of them filling the tiny room.

She gripped his curls with her left hand, while her right softly grazed his beard; Rick's free hand moved slowly up her tank top, frantically feeling every inch of her hot skin. The two of them were devouring one another. Tongues wrestling, air sucking, fingers roaming, heavy breathing. They managed to shut the bathroom door amidst their fervor, just as the box full of cleaning supplies went crashing to the floor. Ignoring it, they continued to lick and suck at one another, Rick lifting Michonne onto the counter, slowly and purposefully lifting her shirt as he did, while her fingers worked to unfasten his jeans.

_Everything is gonna be all right..._

* * *

Lyrics: "Tell Him" – Lauryn Hill (The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill)


	5. Head's Up

**Chapter 5  
** **Head's Up**

Rick's pink lips wrapped around Michonne's dark brown nipple, sucking at the rigid bud, while her fingers frantically combed through his curls, her mind racing as he devoured her. He voraciously sucked at her right breast, his tongue feeling like fire against her skin. She moaned softly as he squeezed at her tits, fitting perfectly in his hands and in his mouth, so soft and supple. His jeans hung open around his waist, and he could feel his dick getting harder by the second.

He'd thought of doing this so many times - mostly fleeting fantasies that he disregarded as inappropriate - but now that the opportunity had presented itself, he had become almost ravenous. Michonne wanted him. _She_ wanted _him_. He was lucky enough to have her as a friend and confidante, but the fact that she wanted more, and expressed it in no uncertain terms, it was unfathomable. And so, mere minutes after her revelation, they were both naked from the waist up and working their way down, on the brink of changing their relationship forever. He was going to have sex, for the first time in nearly two years, with the only woman in the world he felt even remotely close to.

These thoughts consumed him as his kisses continued down her gorgeously taut stomach, and his fingers moved faster than his brain to unbutton her jeans. He pulled them down hurriedly until he could see the fabric of her red and gray panties, and his breathing became stuttered and unsteady. He reached between her thighs, feeling the moistness between them as his mouth wandered back up to her tits. Sucking her nipples hungrily as his fingers crept inside her underwear to feel the soft crevices of her tantalizingly wet pussy.

Michonne moaned as quietly as she could while he deftly worked his hand over her slick slit, making her wetter with every motion. His tongue was working in overdrive, running up her chest, lapping at her throat, until finally, his lips found hers again. She nearly forgot how to breathe as he inhaled her; as his mouth covered hers, and they sloppily kissed one another as he fingered her. She could hardly move, being confined by her jeans halfway down her thighs, but she scratched and squeezed at him, their bodies pressed together as their tongues wrestled. After just a few seconds of his handiwork, she was close to an orgasm, dripping against his fingers as they rubbed at her clit. She could only imagine what it would feel like once he was inside her. But the moment was getting away from her, and she simply couldn't let it.

"We need a condom," she whispered breathlessly against the side of his face. She could feel her excitement building, her body trembling in his warm, strong hands. And as much as she hated to interrupt where they were obviously headed, it couldn't be completely reckless.

"Shit," he mumbled as he pulled back to face her. He removed his hands from inside her pants and rested them on her thighs. "Shit."

She frowned at the obvious tension taking over his face. "What's wrong?"

Rick shook his head, trying not to stare at her breasts as he retrieved her tank top from the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, picking up her bra as well. "I'm so sorry."

"For what," she chuckled, not bothering to put her clothes back on. Not when she was sitting there desperately wanting to fuck him. "I'm more than consenting to this."

"We can't..." he said nearly silently.

"What?"

"This is... I dunno if this is a good idea."

"Oh..." she laughed nervously as she began to uncrumple her top.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Please don't make it awkward by apologizing," she tried to smile. She quickly pulled her shirt over her torso and grabbed his from behind her back. She passed it to him as she added, "I know you had Jessie or whatever, but this is the first physical affection I've had in a very long time. And it was nice."

He nodded, feeling flummoxed by all of it. He wanted her so bad, and his heart was still racing, but he knew this was the wrong way to go about things. He was sending the wrong signals. "I do wanna do this," he admitted hoarsely. "I can't even remember the last time I felt like this. I've been walking around damn near catatonic when it came to sex, and you just brought out... something. I dunno." He shook his head, his gaze claiming hers, wanting her to know that he was being sincere here. "I just... don't know what I'm doing right now, Michonne. I don't wanna keep acting stupid just because I'm sad. I don't want you to be my escape plan," he said glumly. "So I am sorry."

Michonne blinked back her tears, trying not to show her disappointment. Trying not to feel rejected. She knew he'd been working very hard at being better - being present, being pleasant - and she liked the change she'd seen in him. It was why she was able to express her feelings in the first place. So she couldn't blame him for exercising common sense in a situation that was becoming very emotionally charged. He was probably right. Sex wouldn't have made anything better, not if he wasn't ready to explore the feelings that came with it. She nodded in understanding and closed her legs so that he could no longer stand between them. "I get it."

"Do you, really?"

"Yeah," she frowned, doing her best to come off as nonchalant. "I mean, I can't be mad at you for not being ready." Could she?

"You have always been ahead of me," he smiled ruefully as he pulled on his t-shirt.

She raised her eyebrows in the equivalent of a shrug and hopped down from the counter, quickly pulling up her pants. She was biting her lip as she opened the bathroom door, and she could still taste Rick on them. She could still feel his tongue claiming her tits; the bulge in his pants pressed against her. She was _so_ close. And now, back to square one. Now, not only had she poured her heart out, but she was horny to boot. "Just great," she muttered as she headed for her room.

Rick lowered himself to sit on the floor, in the mess of first aid supplies that had scattered once he and Michonne got going. And with a giant sigh, he leaned against the bathroom cabinet, hating that this was the moment he had to have a conscience. "Fuck."

* * *

The next morning came slowly for both Rick and Michonne. A mostly sleepless night for him, while she used a couple of whiskey shots to induce her desperate need for slumber. As a result, she was moving a bit slower than usual, and trudged into the kitchen to find Rick, Judith, and Carl quietly sitting at the table. It was about the last thing in the world she wanted to wake up to, but there they were, looking like a happy family that she couldn't truly be a part of.

"Hey, Michonne," Carl greeted her cheerfully, oblivious to her somber mood.

"Hey," she answered him quietly. She was doing everything she could to avoid Rick's stare.

"Good morning," Rick submitted, feeling equally as sheepish and uneasy about what had transpired the night before. "There's coffee and oatmeal, if you want it."

She nodded, making her way to the coffee pot, mostly because it was at the other end of the kitchen, away from him.

"Are you okay?" Carl wondered, noticing the contrast in her demeanor from the morning before. She looked the way he felt when she had to talk him off the ledge.

"I'm fine," she lied. She purposely didn't face him, because she knew the kid would call her out if he detected any hint of how she actually felt. "I just... it took me a while to get to sleep. I didn't mean to wake up so late."

"Oh, that sucks. Dad said he couldn't sleep either."

Michonne found that odd, considering he was the one to ruin their night, but she ignored the information for her coffee. "I should go get ready."

"You're not gonna eat breakfast?"

"I'll probably grab an apple on my way out," she turned to him with a small smile, still avoiding his father's gaze.

Even so, Rick couldn't help but stare at her, standing there in the same shirt he'd pulled off of her just a few hours before. He hated how uncomfortable she seemed. How uncomfortable he felt. That time yesterday, they were enjoying a perfect moment in their kitchen. Now, she wouldn't even look at him. "Before you run off," he said, hoping to catch her before she could disappear, "you know how we talked about us being low on food?"

"I'm the one running off?" she shot back, finally looking at him then, offended by the notion.

"I just mean before you go this morning," he said, clearing his throat. He was thrown by her clipped tone. "I just wanted to see if you were interested in goin' on a run."

"On a run? Today?"

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"You should probably... take Glenn," she declined, her stare flitting past him and out of the window. Her fingers tapped anxiously at her coffee mug as she realized how rude that sounded. "I'd just rather stay home."

"You sure," he squinted back, noticing she was still acting odd. "We've been here almost two months and you haven't even scavenged the area for chocolate."

She shrugged in reply, taking a sip of her coffee. "Been a little busy cleaning up after you."

Carl could sense there was some sort of tension between his dad and Michonne, so he immediately focused on his oatmeal, trying not to draw attention to the fact that he had noticed. He simply wanted to listen and see where their conversation would go.

"Fair enough," Rick chuckled awkwardly. "So you really don't wanna go?"

"I'm good." She turned out of the room without any further words.

Judith, having observed her grand exit, yelled happily as she ate her own breakfast, "Bye bye!"

Carl wasn't quite so affable about Michonne leaving, glaring at his dad, who was either lost in thought or pretending to be. "What did you do," he demanded to know, and didn't bother to keep his voice down.

"What?" Rick looked up at him, startled by the accusation.

"Why is Michonne mad at you?"

"She's not mad at me," he frowned.

"Really? Did you just completely miss the last couple of minutes?"

Rick sighed, unsure what to say. He certainly wasn't going to tell his son the full details, but he was hesitant to give him any information, not knowing how Michonne would feel about it. Not knowing how she felt about anything at that point. "We just had a misunderstanding last night."

"About what?"

"About... how to move forward."

"What does that mean?" he questioned, already feeling sick at just the thought. "Did you argue?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Please don't start that passive-aggressive fighting like you and Mom did. I'm too old not to know what's going on now."

"We're fine," Rick answered confidently, contrasting his actual conviction on the matter. "This is nothing like that."

"Are you sure? Because I remember what it felt like, and it was a lot like this. I was just too dumb to know that you guys hated each other."

"I didn't hate your mother, Carl."

"Yeah, well you sure didn't like her a lot of the time," he quipped. "And I mean before the world ended."

"That's not..." He sighed again, thinking better of arguing over it. Either way, Lori was not Michonne. "Your mother and I had problems, maybe because we weren't in love anymore. I don't know. I've let that part of my life go now. But that's not what's happening with Michonne, so I don't want you to worry."

"So she's not gonna move out?"

"She's not going anywhere," he promised. He hoped. "Even if she hated me, she wouldn't leave you and your sister."

"Dad, why does she hate you?"

"She doesn't, Carl. It was an example. An assurance."

"Don't say things like that." He scraped at the bottom of his bowl, finishing his breakfast as he stared at his father and sister. He couldn't help but think how different things would be if Michonne didn't live with them. It would feel empty. Like his home was broken. "Are you _sure_ things are okay?"

"I'm positive." He stared blankly at the kitchen doorway, halfway hoping she would walk back through it and reassure him of that. It was clear she wouldn't, though, and the fact that he was so uncertain was killing him. "Watch your sister," he instructed, popping up from his seat.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be back."

Rick quickly made his way upstairs, and Michonne could hear his footsteps as he approached. She inhaled sharply, knowing that she didn't want to face him, but that she would have to. They lived together. So close that the only thing between them was a bathroom. The bathroom where she told him how she felt, and he, in the end, acted like he didn't hear her. Tears seemed to manifest whenever she thought about it, and this time was no different. She quickly wiped them away, yet again wishing that she didn't care so much about this one man. But then, the world was so small. If she didn't have him, she would have nothing. And it was so frustrating to think about. So no, she definitely didn't want to face him.

"Michonne," he knocked softly at the door, and his voice was equally as gentle.

But she knew she would have to. She picked herself up and slowly moved to answer, but his voice stopped her from opening it.

"I understand you probably don't wanna see me right now," he announced quietly. "I don't wanna force you to talk to me or anything, but I just want you to know, because I didn't say it last night, that I love you, too. This isn't because I don't feel anything for you. I do. I feel a lot of things, honestly, that I've never been able to say." He exhaled softly, resting his head against the door, unsure whether she was even hearing him. "I just... I don't know if I should let myself. It's because of those feelings that I - I don't know if it's safe. I don't know if we're safe. And I'm trying hard here to do things right, and I'm scared to death of fucking up again. I can't..."

Michonne stayed on the other side of the closed door, her tears falling harder as she listened to him, digesting the earnestness in his voice. She rested her forehead against the door, too, her fingers on the doorknob, wrestling with whether to turn it and face him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I get it if you need time. I'll probably be gone by the time you get home tonight. But maybe we can talk when I get back."

She sniffled and sighed, her anger and confusion converging with her sadness and understanding, and she pressed her fingers against the door, pretending it was his face. "Okay," she said, almost inaudibly. She listened as he eventually walked away, and she let out another loud sigh, relieved that he was gone. Hating that he was gone, too. "Fuck."

* * *

Hours later, after Rick and Glenn had left on their mission, and Carl was babysitting his sister, there was a knock at the door, which Judith was content to answer. She made a run for it before her brother could catch her, and together, the two of them greeted their visitors - Maggie and Enid. "Hey," he acknowledged them both, though he found himself worried by the surprise visit. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Maggie answered with a small smile. "Michonne home?"

"Uh, yeah." He picked up his sister from the floor and opened the door wider to allow his guests inside. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened, dummy," Enid retorted, casually sauntering into their living room to make herself comfortable. "You wanna play Halo?"

"Sure?" he replied, looking back and forth between his friend and Maggie.

"I was gonna see if Michonne wanted to come out with me," Maggie explained. "Glenn's gone, so I told Enid she could come hang out with you. Carol said she'd bring over some dinner in a couple hours."

He nodded, though he would've been surprised if Michonne wanted to go anywhere seeing how she'd been in her room for most of the afternoon. "Michonne!" he called upstairs for her loudly. "Maggie's here for you!"

"I think I could've done that myself," she chuckled. But before too long, Michonne appeared at the top of the steps, and Maggie grinned up at her, despite the sleepy scowl on her face. "Hey. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Hey," Michonne frowned, sniffling from what was actually her most recent cry. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come out with me to look for some food. A couple of groups have already left, but Aaron said we can take out his car if we want."

"Maggie, I don't really feel like..." Michonne cleared her throat when she realized how nonsensical she was being. Wallowing over anything, much less, a man, had never been her style. She wished she knew why she was doing it now. "I don't feel so great," she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Don't tell me you're pregnant, too," she joked, beginning to make her way up the steps to check on her friend. "What's wrong?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"You want me to radio for Dad?" Carl asked worriedly.

"No," she shot back instantly. "I'm fine. I just wanted to sleep," she said, looking to Maggie. "But I'll come out with you for a couple of hours."

"You don't have to. I just thought you might want to."

"No, getting out of the house might be what I need," she tried to smile. "Let me just wash my face and get my shoes, and I'll be right down."

Maggie smiled, relieved she wouldn't have to take someone else when she really wanted her friend. "Take your time."

* * *

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

Michonne and Maggie were walking through some random neighborhood not far from their own, scoping out homes to search for food. And it seemed that Michonne really took it to heart when Maggie told her to take her time. They looked to be on more of a leisurely stroll than a scavenger hunt, mostly due to Michonne moving at a snail's pace. She barely spoke, and didn't seem much in the mood for killing walkers either, as she let a couple walk right by them. She wasn't her usual self - not the person she had become over the last several months - and Maggie had most certainly noticed.

"All right," she sighed in response to Maggie's question.

"I know you said you weren't feelin' well. I was just wonderin' what's wrong, exactly."

"I don't know," Michonne frowned, and she was being honest. She knew it was Rick, but she couldn't quite pinpoint why she was so sad about it. His reasoning was sound, and it didn't make sense for her to be so upset. "Just a bad day, I guess."

Maggie looked at her sympathetically. She could tell from the start that Michonne was more sad than sick. "What happened?"

"You wanna check this subdivision?" she asked, pointing to what looked to be a fairly unbothered home at the front of the first neighborhood they came across.

"All right." The two of them turned into the quiet community as Maggie waited for her friend to answer the question at hand. "Michonne..."

"It's just... boy troubles," she smiled sadly, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

She sighed heavily as she shook her head at the revelation. "What did Rick do now?"

Michonne could only scoff at the fact that it was so obvious that all her problems were tied to him. That she was tied to him. "I dunno. It's silly."

"Doesn't seem like it is."

"I mean, it's not as big a deal as it feels, I don't think. I feel ridiculous for crying over this."

"Michonne, what happened," she demanded, stopping in her tracks. It was none of her business, really, but she knew how happy Michonne had been been lately, and so present with the group. Maggie would've hated to see her go back to the stranger she was back at the prison. "Please tell me."

She looked up at the sky as she blinked away her fresh set of tears. "I told him that I wanted to be... with him," she intimated, her voice shaking as she spoke. "I said I loved him. And he... he isn't ready."

Maggie wasn't sure what to say. She knew Rick and Michonne fairly well, so she could tell there was always a mutual attraction there. A latent crush that maybe they both decided not to act on. But to know that she had expressed real feelings to him and he didn't reciprocate, it was baffling. She pulled Michonne into a quick, comforting embrace, wishing she could take away the feeling of rejection she knew she was likely experiencing. "I'm sorry."

She squeezed at Maggie tightly, more thankful than she realized for being able to talk to someone about it. "I hate that he has the ability to make me feel like this," she sniffled. "And I know he wasn't being mean, or insincere. But it just… it hurts."

"Trust me," Maggie said, holding her buddy's hand as they commenced their walk, "I understand. Glenn did this same thing with me at first."

Michonne looked over at her, surprised.

"Some part of him didn't believe I was ever attracted to him in the first place," she chuckled as she reminisced on the days when they first met. "Bigger part of him was just scared to death. And tryin' to fall in love when you're losin' people left and right, it just wasn't somethin' he knew how to handle. He didn't trust himself."

"Rick's been overwhelmed," Michonne admitted with a small nod. "He had been struggling for a while. He's been trying to find his way back ever since Lori died. And things keep knocking him off track." She tightened her grip on Maggie's hand as she thought about how she always had some defense for him, and it annoyed her. "I get that…"

"But what?"

"But… it still feels like he stabbed me in the stomach," she chuckled ruefully. "And he has no idea how hard it was to say that to him. I'm standing there with my heart in my hands, offering it to him, and he's basically like, 'You should keep that.'" She scoffed again. "And I'm not gonna beg him to be with me. Not after we got here and he completely ignored me for that… woman. _He_ should be the one begging _me_."

Maggie laughed in reply, glad to see she was something other than sad about it. Even if it meant being indignant. "And he sure seemed all right with chasin' Jessie around like a fuckin' idiot."

"Like a fucking idiot."

"But after what happened with her, I suppose I can't blame him for bein' scared."

Michonne looked over at her again, almost offended this time. "If he doesn't know by now that I wouldn't get his children killed, then we've got bigger problems than I thought."

"You know that's not what I mean," she laughed again. "I just… I don't want you to give up on him for this. He'll come around," she offered quietly. "They always do."

As they approached the steps of their first home, she finally let go of her friend's hand in order to unsheath her sword. "It's been two years, Maggie. I can't sit around waiting for him so I can restart my life."

"So you got someone else in mind?" she teased, also pulling her knife from her belt. "You gonna shack up with Daryl?"

"Well he'd have to take a bath first, but… I'm not opposed to the idea."

The two of them peered into the windows of the still house, Maggie banging on the door as Michonne pounded against the siding, both of them waiting for any kind of response from inside. "Would you really?" Maggie asked.

"I dunno. Probably not," she shrugged. She wanted Rick for a reason. Anything else would've been settling, and she didn't want to do that either. "Rick and I came dangerously close to having sex last night, and it just made me realize… I just want him."

Maggie sent back a sullen smile, watching as Michonne positioned herself in front of the door to kick it down. "Wait. How close is 'dangerously close'?" she wondered.

"Dangerously close, as in, it would've been a done deal if we had any condoms on hand," she confessed, stepping into the home ahead of her pregnant friend. "He was taking off my pants when I realized it."

"Shit, Michonne."

"I know." She turned away from Maggie, and back to back, the two of them inched through the home in search of the kitchen. "It was so unexpected," she said as they moved stealthily across the house. "And okay, I probably wouldn't want my first time with Rick to be in our upstairs bathrrom, but… I'm just ready to get laid at this point."

"My first time with Glenn was on the floor of a pharmacy," Maggie grinned. "It literally lasted a minute and a half."

"Shut up," Michonne snorted, trying not to laugh too loudly.

"I'm so serious."

"I bet you are."

The two of them separated once they found the kitchen, and instantly got to work on filling their empty bags with anything they could find, useful or otherwise. "And I'll be honest," Maggie went on as she started to clear out the nearly full pantry. "I thought you and Rick were doin' it a long time ago. He was always so excited when you came back to the prison."

Michonne tried to contain her smile when she thought about it. How good things were between them back then. "You know that was right after his wife died," she reminded her.

"Yeah, but I could tell you always made him feel better." She was stuffing rolls of paper towels in her bag as she noticed her partner in crime climb on top of the counter to empty the cabinets. "Besides, it's not like Lori did a whole lotta grievin' for him when she thought he was dead."

Michonne giggled, shaking her head at her joke. "You're bad."

"I'm just glad I could make you laugh," she smiled up at her.

"I'm glad you could, too. I've been feeling sorry for myself all day, when I probably just needed someone to talk to."

"I'm always here, Michonne. You know that."

"I'm so used to it being Rick." She bit at her bottom lip as she thought about how it couldn't be him anymore. Not the way it used to be. Things had changed, irrevocably, she knew, and that might have been what hurt the most. She dropped her full bag and hopped down from the counter to join Maggie, not wanting to think about him anymore. She was relieved she wouldn't even have to see him for the rest of the day. She could be sad and mad at him without worrying about his fragile sensibilities; without him trying to fix it with more words. Words that would probably hurt her again. Being away from Alexandria, with her friend, someone that cared about her own mental state, it was exactly what she needed that day. "I really appreciate you, Maggie."

"Should we move on to the next house? Or put this stuff in the car first?"

"I don't have a lot more room in my bag," she realized. "And you probably shouldn't carry too much anyway."

"To the car then."

Together, toting their loot, the ladies headed out of one house, with plans to move on to the next, and Michonne noticeably had a bit more pep in her step. Maggie was glad to see it, and and even to continue their chit-chat through the rest of their mission. "So… who brought up the condom thing?"

"I did," Michonne sighed regretfully. "That's what I get for trying to be responsible."

"You really didn't think one time would've been all right?"

"It would've been just my luck that one time, I end up pregnant with twins," she smirked, shaking her head. "I do wish I'd at least waited until he ate me out. So I could've gotten _something_ good out of this whole mess."

"Oh my god," Maggie giggled. "You know, I've always wondered if Rick is any good at that."

Michonne had done more than just wonder, but had actively fantasized about it. And now that she knew what type of kisser he was, there was no doubt in her mind. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say yes," she answered, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. They directly contradicted the gnawing feeling that had been there for most of the day.

"I know one thing," Maggie went on, that twang of hers filling the air. "You give him one good blowjob, I bet he comes around real quick," she joked.

"Or he'd just come real quick," Michonne quipped, grinning widely at their rather crude conversation. The two of them cackled their way around the corner toward their car, but their laughter quickly ceased at the sight of a man walking towards them, his arms raised in the air. Michonne immediately dropped her food, pulled out her sword, and used her body to cover Maggie's. "Who the fuck are you," she demanded, already pointing her weapon at the stranger.

He stopped in place, continuing to hold up his arms. "I just wanna talk, I swear."

"Who's with you," Maggie interjected. She had her back to Michonne's, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone or anything else.

"Answer her," Michonne yelled, her sword extended to the man's neck.

"Please get your sword out of my face," he requested calmly. "It's just me."

She ignored his request and lifted her blade to his chin. "Show us your weapons."

"I asked you to lower yours."

Michonne used a moment to size him up, deliberating on whether she could take him in a fight, if need be. He wasn't particularly tall or muscular, but she could bet that he was agile if he was out in the wild on his own. If he was truly alone, she could probably do damage. But then, she had a pregnant Maggie to consider. If he wasn't alone, things could go terribly wrong.

Just as she started to retreat, the long-haired, bearded stranger knocked her weapon from her clutches, catching it in one hand as he captured Michonne with his free arm.

Maggie turned just in time to see her friend with her own sword to her neck. "Let her go, or I shoot," Maggie commanded.

"Seriously, ma'am, please don't shoot me. I have no idea what might happen to my hand if I were to suddenly die. Spasms and things of that nature…"

"What do you want?"

"Honestly, I just wanted to talk to whoever's in charge at Alexandria. I think that would be Rick, but you can correct me if I'm wrong."

"You can talk to her," Maggie said. "But you have to let her go."

"I was hoping for someone a little less hot-headed..."

"Well," Maggie swallowed hard, eyeing her friend for a signal on what to do. "It's either her or Rick. And between them, you've got the calm one."

Michonne used the opportunity to elbow her assailant in the chest, sending him flying toward their car while she got away from him. Maggie took her shots, but he dodged them effortlessly, hopping atop the roof of their car and jumping to the other side of it, looking like a professional gymnast in the process. The ladies looked on in a mixture of awe and confusion while he spoke to him from behind the car.

"Now ladies, I'm here as an ally, and you're making it really difficult to be that right now."

Michonne started to skulk toward the car with hopes of stealing her sword back. "You've lived in this world for how long now, and you don't know not to trust strangers?"

"I know good people when I see them, Michonne."

She frowned back at Maggie, wondering how he knew her name. Or Rick's, for that matter. But Maggie caught him sneaking around the passenger side of their vehicle, so she attempted another shot at him. Before either of them knew it, he'd hopped back over the car and kicked Michonne in the shoulder on his way back down, incapacitating her once again with her sword.

"Listen," he said, pulling Michonne to the ground with him as Maggie stood in front of them, "I understand why you're hesitant. You're careful, and that's why I'm coming to you all. But if we keep this up, somebody's gonna get killed, and it probably won't be me. I'd rather it not be you two either."

"What do you want," Maggie shouted, her tear-filled green stare silently apologizing to Michonne for getting her into this. "Please let her go."

"I _just_ want to talk to your leader."

And just as quickly as Michonne had begun to enjoy her day, it was over. It always came back to Rick. Even when she was trying to have a life away from him, just a few hours, something was intent on bringing them back together. Frustrated, through gritted teeth, she looked at Maggie, rolling her eyes at the shitty situation. "Just... go get Rick."


	6. Now

**Chapter 6  
** **Now**

"You didn't have to come if you didn't want to, you know."

Rick's blue eyes flitted up from the ground, startled by Glenn's voice interrupting his sulking. He had gotten so lost in thought, he hadn't actually heard what his friend had said. "What?"

"You look like you wanna take a long walk off a short cliff, Rick. You didn't _have_ to come out. I would've been fine."

"No, I wanted to get outta the house," he sighed. He hoisted his bag full of loot further on his shoulder as they passed an abandoned strip mall on the way back to their van. "Needed to be away from home for a while."

Glenn was more than clear that something was wrong with Rick, and it was more than just his usual stoicism at play. He seemed bothered, maybe even sad, and it was really a drag on the afternoon. It was a drag on his own typically content demeanor. "You literally look like a puppy that lost its best friend," he said, observing the lack of expression on Rick's face. "What's up?"

Rick looked over at him, unsettled by how accurately Glenn had captured his feelings. "I... it's been a strange day," he decided to confess. "Last night, Michonne told me she loved me. She thinks we should be... together," he croaked out.

Glenn narrowed his eyes at him, even more baffled by the problem then. "And you... disagree?"

"And I have no fuckin' clue why she would want me."

He let out a loud sigh, staring at the side of his buddy's face in disbelief. "All right, Rick."

"What?" he asked, catching Glenn's dismissive, sarcastic tone.

"You have no idea why the woman who's just like you thinks you'd be good together?"

"She's so much better than me," he whispered to himself wistfully.

"What?"

"I mean, of course I think we would be a good match for each other. Or we could've been, somewhere in another life. Before all this. But I have so much... shit." He shook his head at just the thought. "I feel like I've got this dark cloud hanging over me. I don't wanna do that to someone. I especially don't wanna do it to her."

It was Glenn's turn to stare at the ground, hating to see how distraught his friend obviously was. And after everything they'd been through, after everything _Rick_ had been through, he understood it. The man he'd met at the beginning of the apocalypse, just looking for his wife and son, was long gone. He'd been replaced by someone hard and, at times, hopeless. But Glenn had never been one to give up on anything, and he'd spent much of the past year trying to convince Rick not to either. "You know, it wasn't all that long ago that a really wise man told me how stupid I was being with Maggie," he reminded him. "He said that she was smart enough to know what she wanted. That finding her, finding love was a good thing. And as it turns out, he was right."

"It's not the same," Rick sighed, running his hand over his tired face. "You two were so young. You didn't come with all the baggage we have."

"No, it is the same." Glenn stopped walking, and turned to face Rick, demanding his attention. "We all have shit, Rick. We've all been crazy, we've all been cripplingly depressed. Even me. Even Michonne. And maybe your dark days have lasted a little longer than you thought. Maybe you'll fuck this up, too. But Michonne chose you, and you're telling me you're scared to choose her back. It's exactly the same. And I'm living proof that you have to get past it, man. Because on the other side of this fear, some of the best days of your life are waiting."

Rick nodded, looking away from Glenn as he felt his eyes water. The answer seemed so clear, but he had so many questions. All these lingering doubts eating away at him. He loved her, he did. He was coming to terms with that. Learning that that was okay. But the idea of hurting her never left his mind. If something happened to him, would it be like losing Mike all over again? If something happened to her, would it feel as bad as it did with Lori? He couldn't imagine pain like that again. He wouldn't make it out alive.

"I wish it were that simple," he said, resting his hand against the butt of his gun. "I wish I trusted myself that much. Or the world... I dunno."

"Fine, don't trust yourself," Glenn offered, looking him squarely in the eye, "maybe you trust Michonne. She knows you better than anyone else. Maybe she's the light in all this darkness you're carrying around."

With a soft inhale, Rick looked up at the sky this time instead of the ground, praying to whatever god there was that that was true. Or that it _could_ be true, at least. He desperately wanted a way out of this. "Maybe."

They continued their walk, Glenn following slightly behind Rick, and he was glad to see his friend could at least hold his head up now. "This is exactly why I call you dumbass, you know."

Rick looked back at him with one eyebrow raised. "What's why?"

"Because you always have to make things difficult. Someone offers you a home, complete with food, water, and electricity. Your response? You knock out the guy that's trying to help, and then you conspire to take over the place." He shook his head as he considered how utterly stupid Rick Grimes could be. "I mean, the day we met. You ride into Atlanta, shooting that ridiculous gun. You handcuffed Merle to a fucking roof."

"He deserved that."

"Well. Yeah," he granted with a shrug. "But it's never simple with you. And this? You and Michonne? It should be simple."

He nodded, understanding that maybe his suspicions had gotten the best of him sometimes. But then again, they often paid off. "I understand what you're saying. I do. But then, that instinct is the only reason I'm still here. From Dave and Tony, to The Governor, to Terminus. Me making things difficult is what's kept us alive."

"Yeah, well, it's also what's keeping you from living."

Rick wasn't sure how to respond, knowing Glenn was right, knowing he was right, too. So their slow walk back toward the car went on in awkward silence. His frustration was palpable, because he didn't understand how it was so easy for everyone else. As he told Michonne over a month before, it felt like he just had no idea how to be happy.

"When we get back, you need to talk to Michonne," Glenn declared pointedly. "And make sure you tell her I said that you're a dumbass."

"I was planning on it," he smirked to himself.

Glenn was about to speak again, ready to pelt his friend with more insults, but the static from Rick's radio interrupted, and he recognized Maggie's voice on the other end. " _Rick_?"

He could tell that something was wrong just by the tone of her unclear voice. Without another thought, he snatched the walkie-talkie from Rick's belt to answer her. "Maggie? What's wrong?"

" _Glenn? Is Rick with you_?"

"He's right here," he answered, panicked. "What's wrong?"

" _It's Michonne_."

He glanced over to Rick, already seeing the tension mounting on his face. His jaw clenched, his fingers beginning to twitch. Glenn tried to maintain his own sense of calm, hoping Rick would somehow follow his lead. "What happened?" he asked evenly.

" _Hello?_ "

"Maggie?"

" _Glenn!_ "

"Maggie, I'm here. Tell me what happened."

Rick swallowed hard, listening to the static-filled exchange, his heart racing as he waited for the information he needed.

" _If you can hear me, please come back home_."

The two men looked at each other uneasily. They were nearly an hour from home, and it appeared that rain was on its way, which could potentially slow them down even more. Rick wasn't going to make it that long without knowing what was going on with Michonne.

He moved in closer to Glenn, his nerves taking over his entire body as his shaky hand reached out for the radio. "Let me try," he asked.

"I think we're just too far out," Glenn shook his head, handing over the device.

Rick said a quick, silent prayer that Michonne was all right, and he started toward the car. He held the walkie-talkie to his lips, but his voice was weak as he spoke. "Maggie?" he said as if he were begging her to hear him.

" _Rick?_ "

He took off running for the car when he realized she was back in range. "What happened to Michonne?"

" _She's okay_ ," she quickly assured him. " _But she's being held by someone that wants to talk to you. So I need you to get back here as soon as you can_."

He let out only a slight sigh of relief, knowing that if Michonne was in danger, it meant his kids were, too. "What about Carl and Judith," he practically yelled.

" _They're fine. Everything here at home is fine_ ," she said. " _Michonne's about a ten-minute drive from here_."

He stopped running, stopped altogether when he realized that Michonne was on her own with some strange captor. "So you left her alone?"

" _I had to_."

"Maggie-"

" _Just get back home. Please?_ "

The desperation in her voice matched what he felt. The lump in his throat seemed to only be getting bigger as he swallowed his fears once more, and nodded, knowing she couldn't see him. He could hear Glenn's footsteps fastly approaching, and their van was just up ahead, so he would be able to do that much, at least. "I'm on my way."

* * *

"How long have you been watching us?" Michonne questioned her imprisoner. She felt oddly at ease for a situation where she was at a disadvantage. Perhaps because once Maggie left, the stranger became a bit less hostile. He moved across from her, holding her sword on the ground instead of at her neck. He still clutched it tightly, kept it close, but it was significantly less threatening. She could believe that he simply wanted to talk.

"Four days," he answered, looking her in the eye. "Just scoping things out. We try to keep track of what's going on around DMV. So when I heard gunshots coming from this area, it seemed like it was worth checking into..."

She frowned at the inference that he wasn't alone after he specifically said that he was. "'We?'"

"My group. My people. There are about two hundred of us, back at a place called The Hilltop," he clarified. "It's not quite as fancy as your place, but we are one of the larger groups around."

Michonne was doing her best not to show her confusion, but her mind was racing as she took in the information. How could there have been hundreds of people in their backyard without anyone at Alexandria ever mentioning it? Without them knowing? "Are you bullshitting right now?" she questioned, attempting to maintain her cool.

"Not at all, Michonne. Not at all. Like I said, I'm here as an ally, so I'm gonna be as forthcoming as you need me to be."

"Why don't we start with your name," she suggested, still bothered by the fact that he knew hers.

"Paul Monroe." His voice was calm; soothing, even.

She wasn't sure whether it was more suspicious or less that he had the same last name as Deanna and her family. "Monroe?"

"My friends call me Jesus," he added. "As a nickname, I mean. You can call me either one."

"Why in god's name would I call you Jesus?"

He let out a light chuckle, thinking she was making a joke, but quickly sobered when she glared at him. "You don't have to. Some people aren't comfortable with it. I'm not even sure I am," he shrugged. "Again, just being forthcoming."

She stared at him for a moment, and with his long dark hair, parted down the middle, and thick beard to match, she had to concede that he did resemble the westernized image of Jesus Christ. "So is it just the hair, or is this how you sell me on why I should trust you?"

"It is the hair," he nodded. "And you should trust me. But I know that I can't talk my way into that. Once Rick gets here, I'll tell you exactly what I want, and you all can decide for yourselves."

She began to squirm at the mention of Rick's name, sighing as she rested her head against the car door she was sitting against. "I'm gonna tell you right now, Rick's not the most trusting man in the world. In fact, you'll be lucky if he doesn't just punch you on sight."

"So Maggie wasn't exaggerating when she said you were the calm one…"

"I'm the one who listens," she shrugged.

"Well that wasn't so much the case a couple hours ago."

"Yeah, well, you have a shitty approach, and I'm in a bad mood, so maybe it's a sign that this isn't meant to be."

"Maybe," he replied, his eyes scanning the sky, taking note of the gray clouds starting to settle in. "But before two minutes ago, you didn't even realize that there were other groups out there. Did you?" He waited for her response, but she continued to look at him with those big brown eyes. If only looks could kill. "I know it's hard to trust people. You can't even trust the ones you live with, much less, strangers. But we can't rebuild the world if we don't take that chance."

Michonne felt her heart beating faster when she thought about how she'd just taken a chance and it blew up in her face. "What do you want from us?"

"If we can set up some sort of trade between our communities," he offered. "Like I said, we've got two hundred people at our place. So we've got a lot, but we also run out of a lot." He began to reach into his pocket, noticing that Michonne physically recoiled as he did. He pulled out his gun and slid it toward her. "It's empty," he revealed. "We ran out of ammo a long time ago, so I have to use it for show now."

She nodded, dubiously staring down at the pistol. She knew Eugene was back at home, trying to figure out a way to produce bullets, as they were running pretty low themselves. But that could certainly prove fruitful if they were going to establish any kind of trading system with another group. "What do your people have?"

"We have a farm - a few acres of land - so we're pretty well stocked on food. Of course, I noticed you building your own farm, so maybe that's not quite as useful to you. But we've got tons of clothes, which you may need once winter comes. Tools. I'd like to bring you out to the Hilltop to see everything. Or Rick. Or whomever. I don't know how you people haven't run out of ammo, but we could really use your help there."

She nodded again, unsure how to feel about the fact that she believed him. It was the same feeling she had when they met Aaron – he was a good guy. But it was dueling with her intensely precautious nature, and it just didn't seem likely that she would happen upon yet another kindly stranger spying on her family. "I'll have to talk to Rick about it," she eventually answered.

"Understood."

"He's gonna be so pissed," she chuckled, shaking her head. "Hope you're prepared for another fight."

"He your husband?" Paul wondered.

Michonne felt jolted by the question, and it showed on her face. "What?"

"I noticed you lived in the same house…"

"Oh." She frowned at her dizzying emotions, hating that the question affected her. Still, she was conjuring up an answer that didn't tell all of her business, but stopped herself short when she heard the sound of a car approaching. She knew it was that raggedy van of theirs, as she could pick out its noisy engine from a mile away. And without thinking, she popped up from the ground, Jesus mimicking her actions while making sure to take her sword with him.

"Don't move," he instructed pointing it toward Michonne.

She ignored him, watching carefully as the black van came into view, and she could see Glenn was driving. She noticed Rick staring at her from the passenger side, and as they got closer, his door went swinging open. He hopped out of the vehicle before it even stopped, and he was running toward the two of them with his gun drawn.

"You let her go," Rick barked at the stranger. "Let her go right now, or I put a bullet in your forehead."

"Rick," Michonne called out to him.

"Please get the gun out of my face," Paul requested calmly.

"Rick."

"Drop her fucking sword before I kill you."

"Rick!" she shouted once more, carefully stepping out in front of Jesus. Her eyes darted to where Glenn and Maggie were approaching, and she held out her hand, signaling for them to stay back. "Everything is okay."

"Maggie said he was holding you hostage," Rick frowned, staring back at her intently. Trying to read whether she was giving some secret sign that he wasn't detecting. He noticed a gun on the ground near Michonne's foot, and the man still had her sword drawn. "What is this?"

"He says he just wants to talk," she said.

"Lower your gun," Jesus repeated angrily. "I'm not gonna say it again."

"Shut up," Michonne demanded. She turned so that she would have eyes on them both, still standing between them so that neither could get too close to the other. "You're gonna have to drop my sword," she told Paul. "Or he's not doing anything."

"Okay," he relented, holding up his free hand in surrender. "Okay."

"I don't trust this," Rick said, moving in closer to Michonne.

"Shut up," she shot back. "Trust _me_." As Jesus rested her weapon on the ground and took a few steps back, she swiftly retrieved it, and then moved to stand beside Rick. "Lower your weapon," she told him.

"Michonne…"

"Rick."

Jesus watched their exchange, his hands still in the air as their other two friends moved in closer. "I'd listen to her, Rick."

"I said to shut up!"

"Sorry."

"Here's what's gonna happen," she went on. "We're gonna tie you up, take you back to Alexandria. You can tell us what it is you want, and if we agree, we'll come out to your Hilltop place when we're ready."

Rick glanced at Michonne out of the corner of his eye, seeing that she obviously had things under control. And that shouldn't have surprised him – she had always been able to handle herself. But he always felt so protective of her, it was difficult to let go of that. He finally lowered his weapon, but he took Michonne's hand and pulled her away from the stranger. He trusted Maggie and Glenn to handle watching him. "You really wanna bring him back to our home?" he squinted at her questioningly. "Where we sleep?"

She rolled her eyes at his distrust of her. "He already knows where we live, Rick. He knew our names before I ever laid eyes on him. If he wanted to attack, he would've done it already."

"You sound like Aaron."

"And you sound like the same Rick that punched him," she quipped. " _I_ trusted Aaron, and look what happened."

"Fair enough," he nodded, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of bruising or trauma. He noticed that she looked more tired than normal, particularly around her eyes, and he gently brought his hand to her cheek. "You okay?"

With this Jesus person coming into the fold, she had almost forgotten she'd spent most of her day crying over Rick. Almost. But as soon as he was back in her space, staring through her with those eyes, touching her with those hands, it all came crashing back to her, just like she knew it would. "I'm fine," she frowned, knocking his hand from her face. She walked away altogether, off to assist her friends with securing Paul.

* * *

Within the hour, the foursome had made it back to Alexandria with Jesus in their possession, where they brought him to the infirmary as a holding cell until they figured out their next move. Rick went around the neighborhood to bring everyone into the fold, and recruited a small crew to take with him to this Hilltop colony their visitor was promoting. Everyone could agree that it sounded like a good idea to at least investigate. At best, they would have a community to lean on in the winter months when supplies were scarce. At worst, they would know they had enemies to look out for.

Rick had just one more person to inform of the impending plan, and he saved it for last, figuring it would be the most difficult conversation to have. He headed up the steps of his home to speak with Michonne, knowing that they were supposed to be using that time to talk about them. Where their relationship was headed. If they even still had one, after the way he'd left things. But now, they had this to deal with, and he was leaving, and he wasn't sure when they would get that opportunity.

He regretfully approached her door, softly knocking as he called her name, much in the same way as he had that morning. "Michonne?"

Michonne answered within the minute, but deliberately said nothing as she took him in. Standing there like the idiot that he was. She simply looked him up and down, waiting for him to speak.

"Hey," Rick greeted her. He stared at her tentatively; cautiously. He wanted desperately to play this cool, but he was so nervous, he could barely look at her. The floor was the safest space for his gaze.

"What is it," she flatly replied.

"I, um… I'm gettin' ready to head out to this Hilltop place," he answered hoarsely. "Thought I should let you know. I was – I was hoping you'd keep an eye on things while I'm gone."

She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if that was all he had to say. "You're going alone?"

"No, I've got Glenn, Daryl, and Sasha," he nodded. "I figure if anything happens, you, Carol, Maggie, Abraham can handle things. Not that I'm expect—"

"I wanna go," she cut in, unconcerned with whatever plans he had in place.

He looked back at her in surprise, given how adamant she was about wanting to stay home earlier. He thought he was doing her a favor by not asking her to go. "You do?"

"Yes."

"So I ask you to go somewhere simple with me, and it's no. But a full-on mission to some strange community, you're all about it?" He leaned against the door frame, using the knuckle of his thumb to rub his eyebrow. He just didn't know what to make of anything anymore. "Is it just me? You don't wanna be alone with me?"

Michonne scoffed at his read of this situation. "I cannot fucking believe you," she mumbled.

"Excuse me?" he cocked his head to the side, unafraid to look at her then. He was much more comfortable with arguing, if that was what she wanted. Anything was better than the eggshell walk he'd been doing all day.

"You…" She stopped to gather her thoughts before attempting to express them. "Rick, I stood in that bathroom last night and poured my heart out to you. I took a leap of faith, and… not only did you reject me, but you kissed me. _You_ did that. I was in the middle of a fucking sentence, and you interrupted with your kisses and then your bullshit." She winced at him, feeling herself wanting to cry, but refusing to let herself again. "Don't you dare try to play the victim here."

"Michonne, I didn't _reject_ you. Is that really what you think?"

"What am I supposed to think, Rick?"

"You're supposed to… I don't know," he shook his head, hating that that was how she saw it. "This isn't about not wanting you. I told you I do. But I can't... I don't know how to do this. I don't know what happens if I lose you, and it's all I think about. Look what happened today. Look what happens every day," he emphasized. "A bad day, bad luck, bad timing, and it's over. And I don't wanna be afraid. I don't wanna be sad or angry or lost. But I am. And I guess I thought that you, of all people, would understand that."

"I get it, Rick. You're scared, and that's supposed to make it feel less like shit, I suppose." She wiped at her watering eyes, wanting to scream for being so weak in front of him. Always. "But it doesn't. It feels like I want you, and only you, and I can't have you because you, all of sudden, feel you can't have love. And that's not fair."

"I don't know what to say," he whispered. "I tried to make the right decision for us both."

"Well aren't you lucky to have decisions," she shot back sarcastically. "You get to call all the shots. You get to make all the mess. You get to make both of us unhappy. It just… doesn't even matter what I want."

"You deserve better than me."

"You don't get to tell me what I deserve!" she shouted, not caring who could hear. "Or if you really feel that way, then fucking _be_ better," she submitted angrily. "But that excuse is for you. Not me."

"It's not an excuse, Michonne."

"It is. Because I'm not asking you to be someone else. I already know who you are. I'm just asking you to try. And god knows I've had my own shit that I've needed to work out, so if you're really not ready, well... okay. That's just something I'd have to live with, I guess. But I just wish…" She let out a sharp sigh as she cried, wiping her face of the tears she didn't want to cry. "I don't understand why I'm the one you're pulling this shit with. Because you sure as hell weren't _scared_ to pursue Jessie, despite the million obstacles between you. You didn't even know her. So how am I supposed to feel like you just don't want _me_?"

"Michonne." He sighed, also trying and failing to hold back his tears. "I don't… I don't know how you can even compare yourself to her. Because you're right. I didn't know her."

"But if she weren't dead, you would be with her," she sniffled with a quivering lip. "And that makes me feel shitty enough on its own, because you never even considered what that did to me. But here we are, just the two of us left, and you _still_ can't see me."

He nodded, his tears falling in equal measure to hers, wanting to reach out and touch her, but knowing she wouldn't want him to. He swallowed visibly as he looked past her, out of the window of her bedroom. It had begun to rain, and he couldn't think of anything more appropriate. "I can't apologize for not experimenting with us," he said. "You're not Jessie. You're not someone I'm willing to walk away from." His eyes fell back to her sad face, his gaze melting into hers, as it often did. Because of course he could see her. Sometimes, she was all he could see. "I need you."

Michonne closed her eyes in frustration, cutting off the connection he was trying to make with her. She couldn't take it. She was already too vulnerable, already on the verge of crumbling. But to hear him say that he needed her? That he loved her? Those were words she didn't take lightly. She meant them when she said them, and knew that he did, too. But for him, it was because of that love and that need that they couldn't be together. She fucking hated it. "So then what now?"

"Now?" Rick shook his head, just as lost as she was. He wanted so badly to get himself together. "We go to The Hilltop. And I guess we'll take it from there."


	7. Here's Not Here

**Chapter 7  
** **Here's Not Here**

 _Good times for a change_  
_See the luck I've had can make a good man turn bad_  
_So please, please, please let me, let me, let me  
_ _Let me get what I want this time…_

* * *

It had been a long night of driving for Rick and his group, crawling their way to The Hilltop in the sheer darkness, with pouring rain to boot. It was almost hard to believe that before the apocalypse, a twenty-mile drive would take less than an hour. Nowadays, trekking across town was an odyssey, complete with dead cars and undead corpses obstructing the roads. So the group had briefly stopped for some sleep, hoping to wait out the downpour, but they were back on the road within a few hours, and by Rick's estimation, they would be arriving to their destination right around sunrise.

He was nervous about this trip, to say the least. He was always apprehensive around new people, but now, he'd be surrounded by a couple hundred strangers, and there wouldn't be much he could do if they wanted to kill him. He was trying to keep an open mind, but it was difficult when his mind was almost _expecting_ an attack. Rick was so used to bad things happening, it had turned to full-blown paranoia. It was the same reason he wouldn't allow himself to be with Michonne. All that grief he was trying to let go of, and the fear that came with it, just wasn't going away.

Jesus sat in the passenger seat of the group's van, keeping his eyes on the road so that he could effectively direct these people to his home. But he couldn't help but glance at Rick every now and then, noticing how tense he was as he drove. How his hands gripped the wheel, his jaw clenched tightly as he squinted through the darkness. He'd been that way the entire day. It was nothing like the man he'd observed the previous couple of days on his farm, or when he'd seen him with his kids. What he assumed to be his kids, at least. Now, he had a very hard shell that only even remotely crumbled when he interacted with Michonne. Rick Grimes was quite the enigma, Paul was realizing.

"Are you nervous?" he decided to ask, knowing there was a good chance he wouldn't receive an answer.

Rick immediately frowned at the invasive question from the stranger. "What makes you think that?"

"Just the vice grip you've got on that steering wheel," he chuckled softly. "I don't mean to intrude."

"Well. You are."

"I know it's hard to trust me," Paul went on, ignoring Rick's body language, obviously expressing that he wanted him to shut up. "I'm not entirely sure I would trust me in your situation. But maybe it would help if I told you why I chose you?"

Rick glanced his way briefly, and then back to the road. "Go on..."

"I watched your place for a few days, I'm sure Michonne told you. I found you because I heard gunshots coming from your area of town, probably a week ago now-"

"We were doing gun training," he recalled, now hating how careless they'd been about it.

"And see, that's the thing. I was just curious what kind of people still had bullets left these days. But when I found you and your group, I got way more than I bargained for, I'll tell ya. People practically taking out roamers with their eyes closed. No one is afraid of them. A samurai, a sharpshooter, and this kid with this eyepatch. I mean, what kinda kid loses an eye and still goes out there every day to fight the dead, you know?"

Rick couldn't help but smirk, almost smile, as he thought about his practically invincible kids, and what a good group he had by his side. Even the remaining Alexandrians were becoming formidable. "They're strong. All of them."

"I can tell," he answered genuinely. "And you're their leader, so I'm just imagining what kind of man you must be. And I think you're the only one who can help us."

He found himself feeling nervous for an entirely different reason then. "Listen, Paul. Jesus. Whatever your name is. I don't want you to depend on me to fix whatever is wrong at your place," he said quietly. "I can't... I'm not what you think I am."

"Well, I think you are."

"I've done a lot wrong. Maybe even too much. We've lost a lot of people..."

"The whole world has lost a lot of people, Rick. Bad things happen, damn near every day now, and the only comfort we get is that we didn't cause them. Is knowing that we're doing our best. And my people aren't like yours. We've got a great group, and they've survived so far, but... it's not because we're strong," he admitted, shaking his head. "The guy in charge there is _weak_. Sometimes, it feels like we're surviving on pure luck at this point."

"I'm not interested in leading two-hundred-somethin' people," Rick cleared his throat. "I can barely keep my family alive."

"I'm not asking you to take over. Gregory would never give up his spot, anyway," he added, rolling his eyes. "Maybe a trade deal won't work between us. I understand that. But something as simple as advice, from a real leader, from someone who isn't a giant fucking pussy, would be a start for us."

Rick had to laugh at the coarse language coming from a man nicknamed Jesus, and it was in that moment he decided he liked the guy. Even if he wasn't quite ready to trust him yet. "I'll see what I can do."

"You can pull in over here," Paul said, gesturing toward the parking lot of a small, dilapidated church. There were a couple of cars already there, appearing to be in good shape. "This is where we park, and then we walk inside," he explained.

Rick nodded, cautiously taking a spot that was situated away from the other vehicles. "Looks like we're here," he announced to his people at the back of the van.

"Finally," Glenn groaned in relief that the bumpy ride was over.

"Are we taking everything?" Sasha called back.

"Take your weapons," he said, eyeing Jesus threateningly as he did. "You can bring anything else you think you might need, but weapons first."

"We're only about a half mile out," Jesus informed them, "so you'll be fine either way."

The six of them piled out of the car, the after-rain chill hitting them all as they gathered their guns and ammo. Rick checked the bullets in his .357 and then slung an additional AK over one of his shoulders, staring out into the distance while he waited for the others. In the horizon, he spotted a giant house sitting on top of a hill, and the way the sun was coming up behind it, the scene looked almost surreal. The oranges and blues that filled the sky, like a painting come to life, were breathtaking. And Rick did take a deep breath as he inhaled the view.

Glenn had noticed it, too, and clapped his friend on the back as he moved past him. "It's always darkest just before the dawn," he commented to him quietly.

Rick quickly came back to earth, his thoughts jumping to his conversation with Glenn from the day before and he nodded to himself, understanding exactly what he meant. His gaze found Michonne, standing near the corner of the van, her arms crossed as she quietly observed Daryl and Sasha finish up.

"You can take your guns in," Jesus declared to the small group. "But we don't have anything other than knives and spears and such, so we'll have to ask you to leave the automatic ones in your rooms once you get settled."

Michonne was the first to answer, even before Rick could respond. "We'll see," she said curtly.

The six of them headed out of the parking lot, Jesus at the front of the group, while Rick brought up the rear, observing a little bit of everything as they walked. Most notably, that Michonne still had her arms crossed. And given that she was wearing just a tank top in the cool summer morning, he quickly figured out why. He sidled up to her as he pulled his jacket from their bag, handing it over to her without any explanation.

She glanced at him, surprised to see him even attempting to interact with her after the way they'd left things. She understood that it was something of a peace offering, even if they weren't necessarily at odds. But things were certainly odd between them, and she wasn't sure whether to accept. But then, she was pretty cold. She took off her sword and handed it over to him in exchange for the jacket. "Thank you," she said softly.

He watched as she shrouded herself in the suede and lambskin, smiling when she seemed to sigh in relief. "Glad I could help." He gave back her sword, and they continued toward the gates of The Hilltop, side-by-side. "You ready?" he asked as he realized they were getting closer.

Michonne smirked at the fact that he was asking the question she typically reserved for him. "That's my line."

"Well, you didn't say it, so somebody had to."

"I see," she begrudgingly smiled at him then. "I am ready," she revealed with a small sigh. "I've got a good feeling about this."

He nodded, looking up ahead to see that house on the horizon again. His view was obstructed by a huge wall, presumably what protected the place that they were headed into, but he could still see the top portion of the mansion, bathed in the sun. "I do, too."

* * *

The Hilltop was impressive, the group had come to find out. A massive, sprawling farm, complete with livestock – horses, chickens, cows, and crops for acres. Cornfields, tomatoes and carrots, berries and apples. There were rows and rows of trailers on one side of the property, while a colossal mansion sat practically on its own, just a giant water tower a few thousand yards away from it. Residents were already up with the sun, scattered around the place, tending to their harvest. It was rural and beautiful, and while not as aesthetically pleasing as the homes at Alexandria, it was much more remarkable. It was inspiring.

Rick was beaming as he took it all in. "Wow."

Michonne noticed his smile – the biggest, brightest one she'd seen from him in a long time – and she couldn't help but smile, too. "Yeah."

Paul looked on proudly, enjoying the pure awe on their faces. It seemed as though they were all on board, finally. "So let me show you guys inside. We'll get you to some rooms so you can get settled."

"I don't get it," Glenn asserted, following behind Jesus into the house. "What could you guys possibly need our help with?"

"Well, like I said, we don't have a lick of ammunition left. And we've got people trying to take our shit. This land, all this stuff that we _need_ , some other group has come along and demanded half of it. And we can't defend ourselves to keep it, so…"

Rick was only halfway listening to the story as he looked around the giant home with its ornate, antique décor. He could guess that it was maybe an old plantation home. "How long have you all been here?"

"Since nearly the beginning," Jesus answered, leading the five of them up a wide, winding staircase. "We run this place basically like a hotel. Most of the rooms have their own bathrooms now, but we've also got the communal showers downstairs. Laundry facility. Dining room, billiards room. It's a pretty good deal."

"What, no exercise room?" Daryl cut in sarcastically, also gazing around in a state of wonderment.

"Well there's a pool out back if you're interested in doing some laps." The entire group stared back at Paul blankly, in disbelief that someone would waste water that way. "I'm kidding, guys."

"What are all those trailers for if you people live in here?" Sasha frowned suspiciously.

"Most of us live in the trailers," he clarified. "It's pretty much new people living here in the big house. Or older folks that feel safer in a close-knit environment. But people that've been here for a while, people with families, they prefer their own space." He brought them to the second level of the three-story home, and to the end of a long corridor, where a block of four rooms sat in a cluster. "We only set aside four rooms for you guys ahead of time," he said, turning back to the group of five. But if you give me a couple hours, I can get another one cleaned up across the hall."

"We just need a couple of rooms," Rick shook his head. Even after a month of having his own room, he still wasn't used to the idea of space. "We can double, triple up."

"It's no problem, Rick. We want you to be comfortable."

"We'll be fine."

Glenn was particularly fond of the idea of having his own space. He, of course, loved everything about being with Maggie, but it would've been nice to not have to share a room with one of his friends if he didn't have to. "Rick, he said it's no problem."

He sighed uneasily, his tired eyes scanning his small group. He didn't like the idea of them being separated. Or maybe, more accurately, he didn't like the idea of being separated from them. "I just think-."

"You guys take the three rooms," Michonne interrupted. She could see the hesitation on his face, and she didn't want him to mess this up for them. "Rick and I can share the fourth one."

He looked over at her, surprised she was willing to share anything with him outside of his jacket. "We can?"

"Why not?" she shrugged. She pulled their overnight bag from his shoulder and stepped into the suite to choose their space.

* * *

"All right, so we might as well get it over with," Rick proclaimed, gazing upon the table full of people before him. He had Michonne and Daryl at his sides, with Sasha and Glenn on either side of them; and in front of him, Jesus, Gregory - the leader of The Hilltop - and several of their lieutenants among them – Kal, Alex, Sami, and a few other names he couldn't remember. After some showers, some introductions, and a tour of the entire grounds, Rick was pretty sure he liked the place. He liked the people – Jesus, most of all – and he wanted to help them. But as he said before they ever arrived, he just wasn't sure how he could. "After seeing what this place is made of, I think it would probably be ideal if we can set up a trade system between our communities. But I don't like the idea that someone out there is taking half your stuff. Especially if they're not givin' anything back."

"Did we ever find out who this group is?" Glenn prompted. "Are they a real threat? Or are you guys just too unprepared to fight back?"

"Well," Gregory cleared his throat as he cut through what was left of his chicken, "to make a rather long story short, it's a group called The Saviors, set up out near Arlington, I've been told. They're an awful group of bastards, led by this guy, Negan-." At the mention of the name, Sasha looked at Daryl, and Rick looked at Michonne, all four of them familiar with the name. Jesus couldn't help but notice.

"You know of him?" he questioned them.

"Sasha and Daryl ran across a couple of his guys about a month ago," Michonne revealed quietly, as if she were letting them in on a secret. "They demanded everything they had on them. Wouldn't take no for an answer."

"So we killed them," Sasha interjected.

Gregory practically gasped, while Paul looked to one of his friends in satisfaction, knowing then that all his faith in Rick's group had been warranted.

"There were only three of 'em," Daryl added. "We never tried to find out more than that with everything else we had goin' on."

"There's a lot more than that," one of the other residents, Jared, informed them. "At least a hundred, from what I can tell."

Rick's eyes narrowed at the information as he took a sip of his drink. "Then why do they need your stuff?"

"Because it's easier to take by intimidation than grow it themselves."

"People are so shitty sometimes," Glenn sighed.

"You tell me where to find this Negan person, I'll have a talk with him myself," Rick offered. He could feel his confidence coming back to him in that very moment. "I'll see what kinda people we're dealin' with."

"We really appreciate it," Jesus nodded, standing from his chair to offer his new friend a handshake. "I told you you could help."

"We'll see," he repeated with a bashful shrug, almost embarrassed by the praise. "I hope so."

"We'll discuss the rest of it in the morning," he said, seeing and appreciating Rick's modesty. "Tonight, I want you guys to enjoy yourselves."

"Yes, please do," Gregory agreed, raising his glass to The Hilltop's newest allies. "Eat, drink, be merry."

The rest of the table also raised their glasses in an informal toast, and took their drinks in unison. Glenn gulped down the last of his wine, and sat back in his chair, practically stuffed from their meal of roasted chicken, whipped potatoes, and every vegetable imaginable. He wasn't sure his body would allow him to do much more. "I am stuffed," he exhaled. "This was delicious."

"You're such a lightweight," Michonne smiled, examining his plate the way she used to with her son. She noticed there was still meat left on his chicken bone. "You and Rick, I swear."

"Don't start with me," Rick defended himself kiddingly. "I ate all my food."

"Which is an anomaly," she revealed to the rest of the table. "At home, he eats less than his one-year-old daughter."

"Can you maybe not tell the people all of my business?" He used his fork to swipe a dollop of potatoes from her nearly empty plate and he looked to Gregory as he consumed it. "We don't have a lot to offer in the way of ammunition. But if you can make it so my kids can have some poultry in their diets, I'll make sure we figure somethin' out."

Michonne was glaring at the side of Rick's face, wanting to be irked by his audacity. But the way his drawl was getting stronger with every word he spoke, she could tell he was getting tipsy. She was, too, if she were being honest, and her glare had turned into a goofy smile. "I'm gonna stab you with this fork."

"You j _ust_ made fun of me for not eating enough."

"That didn't mean I wanted you to take my food, Richard."

"I guess I misunderstood," he smirked happily. He swiftly retrieved his drink from the table and poured some of his gin into her empty glass. "Now we're even."

"I get some of your dessert, too," she demanded as she gulped down the liquor. She let out a small sigh as she sat back in her seat, using the top rail of Rick's chair as an elbow rest. "Where is dessert, anyway?"

Sasha let out a small snort from beside Daryl, leaning over so she could see Michonne. "I'm glad you asked, 'cause I was trying so hard not to."

"I'm sorry," she shook her head, realizing how rude she must have sounded to their hosts. "I've been smelling whatever it is since we sat down to eat, and I forgot my manners."

Gregory was the first to laugh amongst the table, and he stood from his chair as he addressed the two ladies. "I'll check with Belinda now," he assured them. "I imagine she's probably just waiting on us."

Rick stared at Michonne, shaking his own head at her. "You are so impatient."

"Well unlike _some_ people," she spoke pointedly, "I can't wait forever for the things I want."

"You're very funny tonight," he replied in almost a whisper. But she was practically resting her head on his shoulder, so he was certain she heard him.

"Everything's funny to you after a couple of drinks."

"That's true." He noticed as one of her dreads fell onto his shoulder and he grinned to himself, taking it between his fingers to twirl it around his index.

And Michonne smiled at the way he played with her hair as if it were a natural occurrence in their relationship. As if things between them were just fine. And maybe they were, she was coming to accept. All day long, his good mood had slowly chipped away at her bad one, and she just felt happy again. She felt like they were back on track. The only two people in the room, and that nothing else mattered. And maybe it was because nothing else did matter.

* * *

The night went on and drinks continued to flow as the group moved their merriment to the billiards room, where Daryl, Sasha, and Glenn were playing a few rousing rounds of pool against Paul and his buddies. Michonne opted to watch, alongside some of the other Hilltop residents, but she couldn't help but notice that Rick was missing in action. He was there one minute and gone for the next thirty, which had her wondering where he'd gone. But it didn't take long for her to find him on the upstairs balcony, just outside their bedrooms. He was nursing a drink and smoking a cigarette like he had not a care in the world.

"You can't just wander off like that," she announced her presence to him. "I was starting to think they took you."

He chuckled at the thought, smiled at the fact that she came to find him. "It's nice to know you'd care if they did."

"Don't be dramatic." She joined him at the railing, wanting to see what it was he was so taken by. "I didn't know you smoked."

He shook his head as he took a short drag. "I don't."

"All right," she chuckled, gazing at him from where she stood. The blue of his denim shirt brought out his eyes, even in the darkness. He looked like a movie she'd never seen before. Like James Dean, had he gotten any older, with his jeans and his hair and that stupid cigarette. She smiled as she took it from him, taking a puff herself before flicking the ashes over the railing. "What are you doing out here?"

"Just... lookin'," he shrugged. He stared into his glass before taking a sip of more brown liquor, enjoying the cool breeze that came with the late summer night. Enjoying the view from the top of the hill. It was mostly a dark abyss, the moon serving as the only light. But it was vast and endless, and inspiring in some strange way. Perhaps, due to his drunkenness. "This wide open space," he extolled in a throaty whisper. "All this opportunity. All the life that could be out there..."

She smiled at the passion in his hoarse voice. "That's what you see?"

"I finally see somethin'," he nodded. "We're _not_ just the abandoned ruin of a dead civilization."

"We're the ones who live." Michonne rested her hand over his shoulder, leaning into him for the second time that night, and it was a place she felt so comfortable. Close to him. With the city and suburbs of Washington at their feet. "It is beautiful out there."

"And it's ours."

"Everything the light touches," she grinned. She inhaled the fresh air, but she ended up with whiffs of Rick's liquor and the animal manure down below them. It was better than the smell of walkers, but not by much. "Come back inside with me," she said, handing back his smoke. "I want some company."

He sighed and turned back toward the house, where he could hear music and laughter when he listened close enough. "Sounds like you've got plenty of company in there."

"Well I want _your_ company," she insisted, pulling his empty glass from his clutches. "I'll go get you another drink if you make this easy."

Rick was reminded of how Glenn told him how difficult he was, and he had to chuckle at his apparent accuracy. He didn't want to be difficult, and so he took that opportunity to not be. "All right," he nodded.

Michonne grinned at his concession, and lightly slapped his ass before turning to head back inside. "Don't be too long."

He had to laugh at how drunk she likely was, but he was quick to follow her instruction, putting out his cigarette and then making his way into the house that was his home for the night. He walked into the game room to find a large group surrounding one of the two pool tables, everyone watching Sasha take what looked to be a particularly difficult shot. It made him smile to see his friends indulging in something completely frivolous. For a little while, at least.

He took a seat in one of the few chairs in the room – a big, cushiony, decorative chair, looking more like a throne than anything – and he got comfortable as he waited for Michonne to reappear.

"You gon' play a round?" Daryl asked his friend, noticing his quiet entrance into the rather rowdy room.

"I think I'm gonna just watch," he answered. "I don't wanna have to hurt anyone's feelings tonight."

"Oh shit, did Rick just make a joke?" Sasha noted as she made her way around the table. "Sound the alarms."

"All right, all right," he laughed along with the rest of the group. "You should probably worry about your game and not me."

"Ouch," Jesus laughed at the exchange, enjoying all the unfiltered sarcasm between them. "Rick, if you're gonna talk that much shit, you gotta play a round."

"No, I'm good right here." He noticed Michonne reenter the room, and his grin grew even wider, happy to see her and his drink. "I'm just here for her."

Glenn looked back at him in a mixture of surprise and hopefulness, having noticed how well they'd been getting along throughout the day. It was a marked difference in the way they'd been acting the day before, and he had to wonder what changed. Daryl had also noticed whatever was happening between them, too, but he kept his eyes on his game, figuring something would become obvious sooner than later, if it were anything.

"You're in my seat," Michonne chided Rick as she handed over a whiskey sour she'd made herself.

He looked around the large room, noticing that no other vacant seating was available, and he shrugged. "Sorry."

"You're an asshole," she smiled, her inebriated stare surveying his open lap. She swatted his hand out of her way and reclaimed her seat, not caring that he was underneath her. In fact, she rested her full weight on him, her back snug against his chest as if he were the chair itself.

"You comfortable?" he chuckled, feeling his face grow warm from the contact. His whole body was getting hot, in fact.

"Quite." She took a long sip of her drink before nestling her head against him. And the two of them sat there, watching their friends play pool, laughing and smiling through it all. Happiness. These moments were what Michonne had envisioned for so long. Even with things starting to fall apart with Rick, she did have him and the kids, and a place to call home. She had a family. And now, she was relaxing with friends, practically on a vacation. She was _living_. Finally. "How about you?"

"How about me what?" Rick asked, distracted. Distracted by the fact that Michonne's perfectly plump ass was pressed against his dick.

"Are you comfortable?"

He had his left hand rested on her hip, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing at the skin beneath the hem of her shirt. And as he looked around the room, this place he'd never been before, feeling completely at ease, he realized he was actually very comfortable. His physical unease, aside. "I am."

* * *

"Michonne, you know you can't sleep like that."

She groaned at the thought of moving from her very comfortable position, splayed across the entirety of the queen-sized bed she'd be sharing with Rick for the night. "You can sleep on the floor."

"If I get on this floor, I might not make it back up," he joked. He plopped into a small, open space beside her face so that he could pull off his shoes. "I told you not to drink so much."

"Oh, shut up," she mumbled. "Even when you loosen up, you can't loosen up."

"Forgive me for lookin' out for you." He threw his boots to the corner of the room near their bag, making two loud thuds as they landed. And then he stood to tend to Michonne, pulling her shoes from her feet dangling from the bed.

"Yeah, you keep calling it that."

"Because that's what it is."

"When I was looking out for you, I managed to do that without acting like your mother." She sighed as she felt the cool air against her toes. "Which side of the bed do you want?"

"I'll take the side closest to the door," he decided without much thought.

She playfully rolled her eyes as she began to crawl toward the right side of the mattress. "Because you being closer to the door will somehow save us in the event of an emergency?"

"Force of habit," he smirked. "I used to do it with Lori."

Michonne rolled over so that she could sit up and get a clear view of Rick, standing at the dresser. "Mike did it, too. Every place we lived, every hotel we stayed in."

Rick nodded at their tiny moment of reminiscence. "I know you can protect yourself. I know you can take care of yourself. But you don't _have_ to all the time."

She smiled at his statement, but she shook her head. She loved and hated how little he had to do, or say, to make her happy. "I wish you'd stop making me feel things for you."

The two of them stared at each other for much too long, their eyes fixating on one another's lips as a stuffy silence filled the room. Rick had to clear his throat when the awkwardness became palpable.

"So what do you think of this place?" he asked.

Michonne enjoyed the way his twang made 'think' sound like 'thank'. She chuckled to herself before answering, "I think I like it. It's almost too good to be true, but..."

Rick nodded in agreement. "It seems legit, though," he said, sauntering across the small space to turn on the bathroom light. "Feels legit."

"It does."

"You like the people here?"

"I really like Paul," she had to admit. "I'm not so sure about Gregory, but I guess if the other people like him and look up to him, maybe I'm just paranoid."

Rick stood in the middle of the floor, unbuttoning his jeans, and he glanced over at her curiously. He trusted her instincts more than anyone, so if she didn't like him, he probably wasn't worth liking. "What aren't you sure about?"

"I don't know," she shook her head again. "It's nothing he actually did. Just a vibe, I guess? Something about him is just..." her words trailed off as she watched Rick unbutton his shirt in the middle of her sentence, and the sight of his naked torso knocked her from her train of thought. It didn't help that his jeans were hanging open, his light blue boxers peeking out. She bit her lip, trying to stop her imagination from running wild.

He stared at her confused, unaware of the fact that his state of undress was driving her crazy. "Something about him is what?" he pressed.

"What?"

"You were saying that something about Gregory gave you pause." He began to step out of his jeans, throwing them on top of the dresser along with his shirt. "You don't know what it was?"

Michonne only shook her head. Rick was nearly naked, and she hadn't gotten any dick in years now, and the horniness had officially taken over her brain. Her body, too, feeling her nether regions throbbing as he did that bowlegged strut back into the bathroom. "Fuck," she whispered to herself.

"He seems okay to me," Rick called back to her, still ignorant to her disarray. "Jesus just said he was weak. But I trust your judgment, so I'm gonna keep my eye on him."

"I think that's best until we know them a little better." She let out a sigh as she popped up from the bed, no longer too tired to move. She was excited, in fact, and figured she could quickly get dressed for bed while he was in gone. She hurriedly shimmied out of her pants and pulled off her vest, throwing them on top of Rick's clothes. She then moved towards their small overnight bag in the corner, where she'd packed a pair of shorts to sleep in.

"So do you think we should go home in the morning, or stay another day?" Rick wondered, wandering to the doorway as he brushed his teeth. Met by the sight of Michonne bent over their bag, nothing but a pair of panties covering her ass, his toothbrush practically fell out of his mouth, toothpaste dribbling down his chin as his jaw went slack. He swallowed hard, much in the same way her cheeks were swallowing the fabric of her underwear, and turned back around. He felt his dick twitch, and he knew he couldn't let her see the raging hard-on that was undoubtedly on its way.

"I don't know," Michonne replied once she found what she'd been searching for. "I mean, I have no problem staying if they'll have us. But I wouldn't wanna worry everyone back home. It's not like we can call and tell them we're extending our visit."

Rick hadn't heard a word she said, still trying to keep from spontaneous combustion. It didn't help that he kept peeking into the bedroom, even after she stood back up. The side view of her half-naked body was just as good as the front and back. The woman was perfect. He quickly rinsed his mouth out, splashed some cool water on his face, and then returned to the doorway of the bathroom. "You need anything else before I turn the lights out?"

She shook her head obliviously as she discreetly slipped off her bra from underneath her shirt. "You done in the bathroom?"

"Yep."

"We should probably leave the light on in here," she suggested, making her way into the restroom as Rick slinked past her. "At least we won't be completely blind if we get attacked in the middle of the night."

"Yep," he called back in agreement.

She chuckled at his simple answers, and also at the way they functioned with the ease of an old married couple preparing for bed. She washed her face and brushed her teeth while Rick puttered around the room, making sure they had weapons on either side of their bed, just in case. He locked up all the windows and doors, and closed the curtains. He arranged their clothes so that they were easily accessible, if need be, with their shoes on the floor just beneath them.

Soon thereafter, Michonne finished up in the bathroom, and reentered their room to find Rick already lying in bed, looking excruciatingly delectable with the covers stopping just above his waist. She was feeling dizzy enough from the alcohol, but she got a rush of pure adrenaline knowing that he was virtually naked, with that wonderfully sinewy body of his. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to sleep when all she wanted to do was hop on top of him. She exhaled softly as she approached, trying not to stare. "You locked the door?"

He watched as she climbed into bed herself, pulling her hair into the adorable ponytail she usually had at night, and he smiled. "I did."

"You sleepy?"

"I am..."

She nodded, figuring he would be after what little sleep he'd gotten the night before. And probably the night before that, for that matter. "I'm not."

"Well," he let out a quiet yawn, his eyes scanning the elaborate ceiling of their room to keep himself awake. "Then let's talk."

"Or we could fuck, and then blame it on the alcohol in the morning."

He laughed out loud at her unexpected suggestion, but he almost hoped that she was serious. "Is that really what you wanna do?"

"No," she huffed.

"You sure?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure. You don't even deserve to fuck me, if we're being honest."

He turned his head so that he was staring at the side of her face, a bit incredulous that she felt that way. "Is that so?"

"After the way you've acted?" she quipped loudly. "After I was ready and willing, and you shut me down?"

He was poised to disagree with her, but thought better of it, considering how well they'd gotten along that day. It felt as though things were back to normal. They were even better than normal, actually. Last thing he wanted to do was ruin it. "Well then let me make it up to you," he finally offered.

"How do you think you're gonna do that?" she scoffed.

"Gimme five minutes and I'll show you."

Michonne very much caught on to his implication as she watched him lick his lips, and she felt her face get hot, her body lightly trembling. She had already decided he was good at eating pussy, and now, here he was, offering it up on a silver platter. It was such a tempting proposal. But they were both saying a lot of things they probably wouldn't have been comfortable saying sober. "That's… probably not a good idea."

"Why's that?"

"My feelings are deep enough as it is, and sex has barely even been on the table. When we sober up, and things are still the same between us…"

He turned the rest of his body toward her, and his hand instinctively went to cup her face. He stared into her eyes as his thumb tenderly rubbed at her soft cheek. "I don't think things are ever gonna be the same between us."

She smiled at the contact as she rested her hand over his. She studied every bit of his face, his eyes and light brown eyelashes, the freckles that dotted his nose, down to his mouth and the tiny mole that sat above the right side of his lip. Even his growing beard, in all its shades of grey, couldn't hide that mole from her. Her eyes were always drawn to it when she looked at his mouth. She knew his face so well. "God, you're beautiful," she murmured, resisting every urge she had to kiss him.

"Stop."

"I can't say that?"

"You're gonna make me blush," he answered sincerely, closing his eyes to avoid her gaze. His hand fell from her cheek to somewhere closer to her neck.

"You've been flirting with me all night, going so far as to offer your cunnilingus services. But telling you you're beautiful is too much?"

"I'm a complicated man, Michonne."

She giggled at what might've qualified as the understatement of the year. "No shit."

He chuckled too, and he repositioned so that he was on his back again, and out of her face. His feelings really were getting the best of him, being so close to her like that. It was too much. "You make it sound so fancy," he commented. "'Cunnilingus.'"

"That was what Andrea used to call it. Exclusively," she smirked. "She hated referring to it as eating pussy."

"That somethin' you two talked about often?"

"Shut up," she laughed again.

"What?"

"You think you're the first to imply that?"

He smiled innocently with a shrug to match. "I'm just askin' a question."

"Yeah, I just bet," she rolled her eyes. "Did you and Daryl ever hook up while you were out on the road together?"

"I've thought about it."

"Liar," she whispered, her eyes narrowing on his profile.

"I mean, I didn't consider it seriously. But I've wondered what it would be like…"

She grinned at him in his unabashed honesty, and this time, she reached out to touch him, her fingers running slowly through his hair. "You really are fascinating, Rick Grimes."

"I don't know if that's true. This world has just… changed a lot of me."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing."

He nodded and closed his eyes as he felt her hand graze his scalp. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he declared in the softest of voices. "I never meant..."

"Shhh," she cut off what she knew would be an apology. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, and she didn't want him to think about it anymore. She didn't want to think about it herself. They'd had a good day, and that was how she wanted it to end.

He could feel himself drifting into slumber as she continued to rub his head, and his thoughts were about how thankful he was for her. How he loved this woman more than nearly anything. How he was glad she demanded to come with him to this place, because being there may have singlehandedly salvaged their relationship. With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes again, his stare focusing in on the light of the bathroom for a beat, and then he asked her, "We're friends, right?"

"I don't know what we are," she said honestly. She moved in closer to him, claiming his pillow for herself, resting her forehead against the side of his face. "I don't know if it matters anymore. There may not even be a word for it."

Rick smiled. He liked the idea that there was no word to define their relationship. Best friends? Confidantes? Co-leaders? It was all of that and none of that. There was love there, but also a bond that couldn't really be explained, not justifiably. It defied traditions and boundaries and even common sense, at times. And he was slowly coming to an understanding of what that meant. "You're my everything, Michonne."

He waited for her reply, but got nothing but a series of soft inhales and exhales. He realized that her fingers had stopped caressing his head, but rested there, tangled in his curls. Her foot was no longer fidgeting beneath the covers, brushing against his leg every few seconds. She had fallen asleep. And he laughed, unable to think of a more fitting ending to their strange, perfect night.

* * *

"So how'd things go after you guys left? Shacking up for the night and all?"

Michonne chuckled at Glenn's description of her situation with Rick, and her smile lingered as she thought about how their night ended, they way they simply fell asleep together. "Things… went well, actually."

"Ohhh, I know what that smile means," Glenn teased, taking a small sip of his coffee. "Nice."

"It does not mean that," she quickly clarified, though she was still grinning from ear to ear. She sat back in her seat, taking in the view of The Hilltop that their balcony had to offer. "We just… we had a good time. _Talking_ ," she made sure to add. "I've been so worried that we wouldn't be able to be friends again. But I think we're gonna be okay."

He nodded. "Maybe you guys just needed a change of scenery."

"Maybe he did," she agreed. "He's always so deep inside his own head. I think he needed a shock to the system."

"Is that why you offered to share a room with him?"

"I'm not even sure why I did that," she smirked, her eyes landing back on her friend. "I was so mad at him when we left Alexandria. But I guess, somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to fight for this. If we were gonna go down, we were gonna go down swinging."

"You know he's totally in love with you, right?"

"I do." She picked up her mug from the small table between them, shaking her head as she used the heat from her cup to warm her hands. "But he's not ready. And that's fine."

"I don't know, I think maybe you should knock him out again, and see if that helps."

"You're silly," she grinned.

"I just want you guys to be happy," he shrugged. "Rick's a big reason I'm with Maggie. And I wasn't sure he'd be okay after Lori, but then you showed up, and I knew it was just a matter of time. But it's been a year now, and it's like, tick fucking tock, dude."

As Michonne laughed heartily in response, Rick found his way to the terrace, Jesus not far behind him, and he greeted the two of them cheerfully. "Sounds like someone woke up on the right side of the bed," he smiled widely at Michonne, in particular. He loved the sound of her laugh. The sight of it. She looked like she had not a care in the world, sitting there wrapped up in his jacket, sipping her coffee. She looked like the life he wanted.

"Hey," she grinned back at him. "I thought you were gonna sleep in."

Much to everyone's surprise, including his own, Rick leaned over Michonne, wrapping his arm around her neck in an affectionate embrace as he planted a quick, soft kiss on her left cheek. "Changed my mind."

Her eyes closed for just a second before she realized what was happening; before she realized that she didn't understand what was happening. "You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay," he beamed, standing up again. Staring at the view before them. "It's a beautiful day."

"We were just gonna go get some breakfast," Jesus remarked as he joined the three of them. "You guys wanna come with?"

"I'm starving," Glenn admitted, glancing to Michonne. "We were gonna wait for everyone to wake up, but…"

"You guys go ahead," she nodded to him and then glanced up at Rick. "I'm gonna stay here and enjoy the rest of the sunrise."

"All right," Rick replied, obviously reluctant to go without her. His hand had lingered on her shoulder and he squeezed it just slightly before the three of them turned and headed off.

Michonne's eyes stayed on the back of Rick until he disappeared from the long corridor, and that was when she touched her fingers to her cheek, running them over the spot he'd just kissed. And she smiled, because she couldn't think of a more fitting start to the day ahead. A beautiful day, indeed.

* * *

 _Haven't had a dream in a long time_  
_See the life I've had can make a good man bad_  
_So for once in my life, let me get what I want  
_ _Lord knows it would be the first time_

* * *

 

Lyrics: "Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want" - The Smiths (William, It Was Really Nothing)


	8. First Time Again

**Chapter 8  
** **First Time Again**

"It was about two months ago that my group walked into these gates. After weeks of being on the road, on the brink of death, we were fortunate enough to find a place to make our home. And a month ago, not for lack of fighting, we almost lost this place. We came real close. And I look at the faces in this room, at all of you, who've given their everything to our tenuous recovery, and I say this…" His eyes surveyed his living room, full of people he had come to know and appreciate - Denise, Aaron, Heath, Gabriel; others, he loved deeply - his children, Michonne, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, Carol. They were strong, resilient people, the reason he'd made it so far, and he was the reason they had. Together, they would make it. "Prepare to take a great leap forward," he declared emphatically. "I wish I could've taken you all to The Hilltop, because it was somethin' special," he nodded. "I saw the future. And no, it wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, because no place is. But it's got a lot of potential. It's a foundation. It's a beginning. And I really think this is our moment." His eyes landed on Michonne, and she was beaming at him, and he wondered if she knew that he wasn't just talking about the group. Because he wasn't. "Prepare to work hard," he challenged them, taking in each and every one of their stares. "Prepare to fight. Prepare to swim the English Channel and then drown in champagne. We're gonna rebuild civilization. And in the end, we'll be at peace again. We'll have families, and we'll have fun again," he said, landing on Michonne once more. "And it won't be easy, but it _will_ be worth it. I promise. Because finally, we're gonna _live_ again."

* * *

It had been a few hours since the group returned to Alexandria from The Hilltop. A few hours since the town hall meeting where Rick made an impassioned case for how they could fix up the world for themselves. It had gone over well, it seemed, and so, that night, he came home to put their plan into action. The kids were off to bed, and the house was quiet as he sat on his couch with a pad of paper. Writing notes, drawing plots, expanding on what Michonne had developed for Alexandria's own reconstruction. He was in the middle of writing a list that he would give to Jesus when they reconvened in a few days, and he was in such a zone, he hadn't even noticed when Michonne entered the room. Not until she spoke.

"I miss phones," she announced casually, a small smile on her face when he looked up at her startled. She sauntered toward him, taking a seat at the end of the couch opposite from him, solely because of his papers taking up the space beside him. "Not having to physically find someone, awkwardly showing up in person every time you have some little thing to say…"

"I dunno, I kinda like it," he shrugged, watching her get comfortable in her seat. He couldn't help but fixate on her lustrous legs as she sat there crosslegged. He had learned that it likely meant she was fresh out of a shower, because she always put on shea butter afterward. "It's a nice excuse to see your face."

"Or my thighs," she asked, noticing his stare.

He blushed at the fact that he'd been caught, but didn't back away from it. "I will take any excuse to see those."

She grinned again, enjoying his honesty. "What are you doing down here so late?"

"Is it late?" He turned his wrist to check his watch, seeing that it was midnight already. "I didn't even realize it."

"I went to your room, expecting you to be there. Thought I'd get to catch another glimpse of you in those boxers."

"Is that right?" he chuckled, his face continuing to redden. He'd almost forgotten just how comfortable they'd been with one another the night before. "Last night was… interesting, huh?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him as she idly thumbed through the papers sitting between them. "It was."

"After what happened here the other night, I wasn't sure you'd ever speak to me again."

"Well, I wasn't so sure I would either," Michonne admitted. "But you said we'd go to The Hilltop and see what happens. What happened… ended up being good."

He nodded, relieved that it was so simple for her. It was always simple with her, and he was the one that had to make them difficult.

"Then there was that kiss this morning," she prompted, glancing in his direction with a smirk on her face.

Rick gazed back at her apprehensively, unsure of what she would say about it. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, as it was his simple way of expressing how he felt at the moment. But Glenn brought it up during their breakfast together, so he couldn't be surprised that it stuck with Michonne. He just hoped it was in a good way. "Yeah…"

"It was a nice surprise."

"Yeah?"

"You seem to do all your kissing in dark garages and closed bathrooms," she joked, resting her head against the back of the couch. "So this one, being out in the open, Glenn sitting there? Yeah. I'm glad you finally stopped being such a pussy."

"Well it was just a kiss on the cheek."

"Before yesterday, I could barely get you to acknowledge you were attracted to me," she quipped.

"That is not true."

"It's mostly true."

"It's a half truth, at best," he maintained with a silly smile. "And you're the one that brought our thing in the bathroom to a sudden stop."

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault you were being a pussy. All right."

"I'm just clearing the air." He laughed and so did she, until it dissolved into silence. A comfortable silence that neither of them were pressed to fill as they stared at their blank television screen. But then Rick realized that Michonne likely came looking for him for a reason, given her stopping by his room first. "Did you have somethin' to tell me?" he wondered out loud, feeling anxious about it suddenly.

She continued to stare into oblivion for a few extra beats, her mind having skipped past her intent for being down there in the first place. "Yeah," she lightly cleared her throat. "After the meeting, Glenn and Maggie let me know that... they're gonna be leaving."

Rick peered at her, and then down at his papers, nodding at the information as he digested it. He hadn't expected it, but the moment she said it, it made sense to him. "To The Hilltop?"

"Yeah."

He nodded again, slowly this time, though his mind was racing. He wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of being separated from them. They were two of the few people he'd been with since nearly the beginning. "That makes sense."

"It does," she agreed with a small sigh. "And they have to do what they think is best for their family."

"You didn't come to tell me you're goin', too, did you?"

Michonne chuckled, but immediately shook her head in denial. "Not unless you'd let me take Carl with me."

"Oh, just Carl?" he laughed too, pretending to be offended by the idea. "Me and Judith are just chopped liver, I guess."

"No, I'd come back for Judy after she's potty-trained."

Rick continued to laugh, but he was starting to actually feel slighted. "Wow."

"Don't you dare 'wow' me, like you weren't about to actually shack up with the girl next door. I deserve a hypothetical situation where I get to take the kids."

"That's fair," he relented with a smirk. He loved the unspoken agreement between them, that his kids were _their_ kids. "We ever go our separate ways, joint custody."

She looked back at him, surprised. "Is that a promise?"

"As long as I'm breathing."

She smiled, feeling drunk in the moment, in a very different way than she had the night before. She was drunk with relief and with happiness, in the realization that they were going to be okay. Because relationship or not, it didn't change the love that they had for one another. It didn't change the fact that they were together. "I'm proud of you, Rick."

"For what?" he glanced back at her quizzically. "I haven't done anything yet."

"No, you have," she countered. "I mean, your call to arms this evening was inspiring."

"I meant every word."

"I know." There was sympathy in her eyes, and she hoped it was reassuring to him, that she believed him. "And despite whatever hangups you've got about us, you _have_ gotten better. I don't wanna take that away from you. I do understand how you could've given in to me before you were ready for something real, and it could've ruined us. But you stopped, you thought about it. You're not the man I sat with in the infirmary, telling me he needed an escape, that he didn't know how to be happy. You're getting there, and… I'm happy _for_ you."

He bit at his lip nervously, more appreciative of the compliment than he could put into words. "It's because of you," he expressed quietly. "Everything I do, every decision I make, involves you in some way or another."

"Every _good_ decision you make," she grinned back. Her eyes locked with his, and she felt as though she wanted to cry, for reasons she couldn't explain. "God, I'm so glad I met you."

Rick blushed in reply, sending his focus to the space between them on the couch. "You know, this morning I was sitting at breakfast with Jesus, and outta nowhere, he turns to me, and he's shaking his head. And he says, 'I just cannot figure out whether or not you and Michonne are a couple.'" He was smiling as he recalled the short conversation.

She chuckled, tickled by the fact that that was something people wondered. She had gotten the question before, too. "What'd you say?"

"I told him we weren't. Not yet," he revealed. "…But I said I was yours." He looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her reaction.

_There is only one for me  
_ _You have made that a possibility_

Michonne didn't show much emotion in response, not in her expression, not in her body language. But her heart was beating so fast and so loud, it was taking up all the space she had for any other reaction. So instead, she asked just a simple question. "Are you? Mine?"

"I'd like to be," he nodded timidly. "If you'll still have me."

This time, it was her eyes that flitted to the couch, surveying the distance between them and how easily she could cross it. She sat up on her knees, and swiftly slid Rick's way, claiming his lap when she straddled him. She nodded once they were face-to-face, so close she could feel his warm breath against her chin as she looked him in the eye. "Of course," she whispered.

As she studied him, he did the same to her, taking in every detail of her beautiful features. Her radiant skin, practically glowing in the dim light. Her sultry brown eyes, staring back at him, scared and excited all at once. Her high cheekbones and the span of her perfect nose; and her mouth, by god, her lips were the most exquisite thing he'd ever seen. She was a work of art. He touched his thumb to that mouth, skimming her cupid's bow and then trailed across her top lip. "Can I kiss you?"

_We can take that step to see_  
_If this is really gonna be  
_ _All you gotta do is say yes_

She nodded again, this time, with tears in her eyes, because finally, what she wanted, wanted her back. She took his face into both of her hands and kissed him hard and passionately, not caring to let him make the first move. He responded with his tongue, lashing out to meet hers, while his hands cupped her face similarly, his fingers lacing through her locs. It was a slow, deep kiss, a release of all the pent up frustration from the previous few days. All the fervor they'd been harboring for a year. Michonne was grinding against Rick without realizing it, and his fingers were wandering up her tank top, tickling her warm skin as their intense make out went on.

Michonne's tongue was the first to go rogue, licking Rick's the side of Rick's face, ignoring the hair of his beard as she made it to his neck. She had slowly begun to unbutton his shirt, her lips roaming across his Adam's apple as she worked to undress him. But his cock was agonizingly hard by then, pressed against his jeans, feeling the heat between Michonne's thighs as his hands squeezed her ass cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to go balls deep inside what he imagined was her perfect pussy, but he also didn't want to stop in search of contraception. Not this time. And the way she was sucking at his neck, he could tell that she didn't want to stop this train either.

_All you gotta do is say is yes  
_ _Don't deny what you feel_

"Lie down," he directed her in a husky whisper.

She stopped kissing him just long enough to pull back and gaze at him, baffled. "Really?"

"Really," he insisted, rubbing his thumb against her bare arm. He licked his lips as he watched her take position, her body laid out in front of him with her legs spread wide for him to fit between. "Just don't be loud," he warned with his eyebrows raised. His fingers crept toward her stomach, circling her belly button before hooking into the waistline of both her shorts and her panties, pulling them down slowly. She lifted her hips to allow him easier access, watching his facial expression grow more lustful with every inch of her skin revealed.

_Let me undress you baby_  
_Open up your mind, just rest  
_ _I'm about let you know, you make me so…_

Rick inhaled sharply as her pretty pussy came into view. Her lips were plump and smooth, from what was probably a fresh shave, and the color of rich chocolate that he couldn't wait to dive into, desperate to taste. He touched his fingers to the folds of her inner labia, finding that she was already wet for him.

"Take your pants off," Michonne moaned quietly, feeling impatient with the torturous, gradual effect of his fingers. It had been so long, she was willing to forego the foreplay this time. She wanted to fuck.

"You got a condom hidden somewhere?" he wondered, he hoped, still fingering her slowly.

She exhaled in a mixture of pleasure from his finger fucking and annoyed that she had forgotten all about that part. "Then what are… what are we doing?"

"Shut up," he grinned wickedly as he licked his pouty lips. Without much more warning, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and lowered his face into her cunt. His tongue moved in one long, slow stroke down her slit, and then back up again, until he felt her clit at the tip of it. He flicked it softly, back and forth, as her legs bore down on him unexpectedly.

"Jesus, Rick," she breathed.

He smiled to himself, because he was just getting started. He used his index and middle fingers to part her pussy lips wide, and used the span of his tongue to lick her up and down. Every fold, every crevice, every drop of her sweet cum that followed, he devoured. He gently dipped his tongue into her center, but pulled back when he felt her body shiver. Too soon.

He moaned softly as he ate her out, the taste of her driving him crazy. She was soft and juicy, and deliciously sweet, like eating a strawberry on a hot summer day. His lips kissed at her lips, his thumb softly caressing her clit as he worked. He was getting so hard, he was certain he would bust soon. "God," he mumbled, still circling his tongue around her.

_You make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so…_

"Rick," Michonne was whimpering, feeling her impending orgasm rumbling. His mouth was doing things to her she didn't think were possible. His skill set was a form of art, knowing how to read her body, when to push, when to pull back. He had a keen understanding of how to use his tongue, but also knew that his fingers were just as necessary to the conversation. And he was in no hurry to get her there, which only sent her over the edge faster, tortured by his languid strokes. Her hands were gripping his hair, her legs practically shaking as she did her best to not scream out loud from the pleasure. "Fuck, Rick. Fuck..."

His mouth continued to wreak havoc on her, his bushy beard tickling the soft skin of her thighs. She could feel her juices dripping down her ass, and his tongue slid down her crack to catch every drop. His fingers dipped back inside her, and without hesitation, worked her G-spot to her completion. Her mouth hung open, and she clawed at the sofa cushion as ecstasy claimed her entire body. "Shit, shit, fuck," she cried out loud, and it still didn't stop him.

Rick was nose deep inside her, tongue-fucking her from side to side, up and down, and back again. He ate her pussy as if he'd been starving, and for her, he was. So many sleepless nights, imagining this very moment. Wondering what she'd taste like, what she'd smell like, how she'd sound moaning his name. It was all better than he pictured, and he was so pleased with himself for being able to make her come undone, her breathing and moaning only turning him on even more. He slipped his free hand up her shirt, fondling her tits with fervor as he slurped up the last of her cum. Her nipples were rigid in his hands, and he desperately wanted to suck them while they fucked. But satisfying her was enough for him. For that night, at least. He rolled his tongue across her slit one last time as her legs locked on his head, and Rick knew he'd done a body good. Gently kissing and licking the inside of her thighs, he allowed her to slowly come back down from her high.

"Fuck," Michonne sighed, both relieved and disappointed that he was done. She wasn't sure how much more she could take, but she would've been willing to try. " _Fuck_."

He smiled at her reaction, licking his fingers as he sat back up on his knees. "It was good?"

She shook her head in disbelief of just how good it was. She was unable to contain her contented smile. "If me practically strangling you with my thighs wasn't clear enough, yes. It was… my god," she exhaled once more.

He stared at her happily, taking pleasure in the way her skin glimmered in the dark room. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she had a layer of gold beneath her skin. "You're perfect," he whispered, his hands still clutching at her thighs.

"You're not," she grinned cheekily. "But that's why I like you."

"I'll take that."

She was about to say something else silly, and then something inappropriate, but noticed the light from their staircase flicker on, and it was clear that Carl was awake, likely headed downstairs. "It's Carl," she whispered in a slight panic. The two of them immediately pulled out of their embrace, Michonne scrambling to quickly find her underwear.

Rick was frantically picking up the paper that had fallen to the floor amidst their activities, using it to hide the bulge in his pants. But both of them looked guilty as the sin they'd just committed as Carl obliviously meandered into the living room.

"Hey," he greeted the two of them groggily, an empty glass in one hand, and a bowl in the other.

"Hey," Michonne called back, glancing over the back of the couch at the sleepy teenager.

"Hey," Rick submitted, completing the trifecta. "You all right?"

He yawned, nodding at them. "I got hungry."

"You're the only person I know that'll wake up from a full sleep to get somethin' to eat."

"Michonne does it, too," he shrugged. He shuffled his way into the kitchen, completely unconcerned with why his parents were sitting on the couch in the dark at midnight.

"He will never pass up an opportunity to sell me out," she commented, jokingly shaking her head.

"You're the one that said he's your favorite."

"Yeah, well." She gazed at him with a smirk, reaching out to push his messy curls off of his forehead. "I may be coming around on that."

He raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if he knew how much it turned him on when she rubbed his head the way she was. "I wanna fuck you so bad," he said so quietly it was almost silent.

Michonne was able to read his swollen lips and was amused by his assertiveness. But she gestured toward the kid in the kitchen, just in case it wasn't clear how close they were to being caught. "He's _right_ there," she whispered back.

Rick rolled his eyes, finding it increasingly difficult to manage his dick throbbing in his pants. He was going to need a release sooner than later. "We could just go upstairs."

As if on cue, Carl returned to the living room with his cereal bowl and a glass of apple juice, further interrupting the adults' interaction. "What are you guys doing down here anyway?" he finally wondered.

They glanced at one another, Rick anxiously scratching his head as he fumbled for an answer, but Michonne was quick on her feet, as usual. "Just finished watching a movie," she replied coolly.

Carl nodded, glimpsing at the empty black screen of their television. "You didn't watch Inception without me, did you?"

"'Course not." She looked at Rick one more time, making sure he wasn't about to speak. "We... watched Watchmen."

"Nice."

"We'd started it a few days back," Rick supplied, recalling how long that particular film was. Carl still seemed oblivious, but if he thought about it too long, he would've caught on to their lie.

He inhaled a spoonful of cereal as he walked toward where they sat on the couch. "Were you guys gonna head to bed, or hang out?"

"I think we were ready… to call it a night," Michonne submitted hesitantly, uncrossing her legs as if she were actually ready to leave. She sighed in relief when Carl kept walking, back toward the stairs, and smiled at Rick, as if they'd dodged a bullet.

"Are you guys coming?" he called out to them.

Rick let out a loud sigh, and Michonne a low growl, but they hopped up from the couch in an instant, trying their best not to show disappointment in the fact that they were being majorly cockblocked. "Apparently not tonight," Rick muttered in response.

* * *

Michonne had been in her bed for all of seven minutes, her mind a jumble of thoughts about Rick and his spectacular tongue. She had been ready to do so much more, and it was cut short, perhaps by divine intervention. But the longer she lay there thinking of it, the less she was ready to call it a night. Not after she'd gotten the preview.

She mustered all the confidence she could find, and climbed out bed and went to her door, checking to make sure Carl's bedroom light was off again. A sigh of relief to see that it was. She continued into the hallway and stood at Rick's door for much too long, contemplating whether to knock. She didn't want to wake him if he'd managed to fall asleep; but then, she _really_ didn't want him to be asleep. She decided to just bite the bullet and open the door.

She did so carefully, quietly, feeling nervous as the dark room came into view. She couldn't see much at all, other than the shape of Rick beneath his navy blue covers. But then she could make out the sound of his breathing, a little heavier than normal, accompanied by a soft grunt here and there. She softly closed the door and tiptoed her way toward his bed, finding his eyes closed, mouth ajar, hands tucked beneath his comforter, and she confirmed for herself that he was jerking off. She smirked at the delicious sight, hoping that he was thinking of her as he did.

"Rick," she whispered.

Stunned, his eyes popped open, gasping slightly as he stared up at the woman he'd indeed been fantasizing about as he pleased himself. "What's wrong?"

Michonne shook her head, smiling at how tense he obviously was. "Nothing." She boldly pulled back his sheets, inhaling sharply when she took in the sight of his cock, protruding from the fly of his boxers. She didn't have a view of its full length yet, but she could tell it was long, and definitely thicker than she expected. It made her mouth water and her pussy wet.

Without any warning, she pushed the covers completely away, and climbed on top of him, straddling his legs so that she was facing his dick. She licked her lips and he licked his in response, knowing he could still taste her there; knowing she was about to taste him. He watched anxiously as she pulled off her shirt, revealing her perky tits to him, and he felt his dick jump.

She noticed too, and smiled at him sexily. "Relax."

It was hard to relax when Michonne was sitting on top of him half naked, but even so, he let his head fall back to his pillow, forcing himself to submit to her and whatever she wanted to do to him.

She was slow to pull down his boxers, her fingers tracing down his happy trail until she felt his pubic hair, surprised by the light layer of coarse curls. She glanced up at him with a smirk, wondering if he'd groomed himself for her, considering how little he liked to shave on his own. She would've sucked his dick either way, but she appreciated the effort, and she was going to make sure to show it.

Michonne pulled his throbbing cock from his shorts, loving the way it fit so perfectly in her hands. Not at all small, where she wouldn't feel anything when they fucked, and not so big that she would worry about the damage it would do once they did. It stood straight at attention, the head already glistening with pre-cum, and she rubbed it gently with her thumb. She watched his body shiver at her touch and she placed a hand on his stomach to keep him calm. She used her other hand to stroke his shaft in long, slow strokes, milking him for more of it. She licked her lips again, watching it bead at the tip, and quickly used her tongue to lick it up. "Mmm," she moaned at her first taste of him.

Rick's breathing had already stuttered as he felt her take his swollen testicles into her hand, massaging them like stress balls while her lips covered his cock. Her mouth felt like a vacuum as she sucked him hard, then released the pressure just slightly before doing so again. "'Chonne," he called out breathlessly, his head lifting from the bed in delight. Her tits were grazing his thighs, just driving him even more insane. " _Shit_."

She did her best to swallow him whole, gagging on his length as it reached the back of her throat, and then released, before using her hand again, caressing him. She sucked at his scrotum as she did, then licked around the engorged sack, recognizing that he must have been ready to burst. She was ready, too, feeling her pussy clenching as she completed the act. It was as much a turn on for her as it was him, pleasing him this way. Licking her way up his shaft and then back down again. She rolled her tongue in slow, torturous circles, much in the same way he'd done to her, and the effect was the same. He was writhing beneath her, his hips lifting to meet her mouth, his grunts and groans making her wet beyond belief.

"Oh fuck, I love you," he whispered in the heat of the moment.

Michonne wanted to smile, but her mouth was full of his dick, so she simply moaned in response. She knew as much, but she liked to hear him say it. She especially liked that he probably had no idea what he was saying in that moment, distracted by her mouth working overtime. In fact, she was impressed by Rick's fortitude, given how long it had been since he'd gotten laid. But she continued to stroke his length, while she licked and sucked the head like a popsicle, unrelenting in her assault. He was breathing harder, and some collection of incoherent sounds came out of his mouth before he busted into hers. His cum came faster than she expected, and more of it than she was prepared for, but she guzzled it shamelessly. Hungrily. She loved the taste of him, uniquely salty and sweet, swallowing every last drop of his load.

She wiped her chin and neck, and licked up any residual semen from his thighs and sheets, and then pulled herself up to get a look at his face. A satisfied smile came over hers, seeing him staring at the ceiling with his mouth hanging open. Michonne loved knowing she could make him lose his goddamn mind. She loved being the one to bring him back to life. She crawled up his body so that she was straddling his waist, her ass pressed against his recovering cock. "You need a break?"

He nodded, still breathing heavily. "I wasn't... prepared for that."

"Well, you started it," she grinned, her fingers gently brushing at the light hair on his contracting stomach. "I had to bring my A-game."

"Mission accomplished." He sat up on his elbows, taking in the view of her sitting on top of him, damn near naked and ready to go. He was realizing just how long it had been since he'd done anything sexual. "I almost forgot what this felt like," he smirked.

_Loving you has taken time  
_ _But I always knew you could be mine_

"'This' being what?"

"All of it. Desire. Being close to someone. Being naked with someone, in every sense of the word."

Michonne nodded, all too familiar with the fact that Rick Grimes was not good at being vulnerable. Neither was she, for that matter, but there they were, being just that with each other. "Are you nervous?"

"I was," he admitted, his eyes roaming up and down her torso. "Mostly just excited now."

"Yes, I can feel that," she joked, still feeling his erection twitching against her backside.

Rick watched as she gracefully rose to her feet, standing over him with a devilish smirk on her face as she stepped out of her shorts. Finally, they were both fully naked, and he looked up at her in awe, with that intent squint of his. She was so perfect, it didn't make sense. Her curves were dangerous, her muscles beautiful. He still couldn't believe that she wanted him. He stared at her bouncing tits as she reclaimed her position on top of him. "We never did get condoms," he realized.

Michonne shook her head, unwilling to bear any more interruptions. She had his hard dick underneath her, rubbing against her slit every time she moved. And he was looking at her with those eyes, fondling her nipples. She couldn't wait any longer. "It'll be okay," she whispered.

_I recognize the butterflies inside me_  
_Sense is gonna be made tonight  
_ _All you gotta do is say yes_

"You sure?"

She nodded, already taking hold of his cock to insert him inside herself. "Just pull out. I'll suck you off if you need me to."

He nearly came just then, imagining those lips on his cock again, all while he was sliding past her other lips. "Oh, fuck," he mumbled as she sank down on top of him. Their skin-to-skin contact was much more satisfying than any rubber could've ever been. "Shit."

Michonne inwardly agreed, the same assortment of words running through her head as his dick penetrated her deep. It was a tight fit, almost uncomfortable at first, her being so unused to the sensation. But she rolled her pussy around him, her moistness giving way to his girth, and that familiar feeling came back to her. "Oh god," she murmured, biting her lip.

Rick groped eagerly at her ass cheeks as she began to ride him like a horse. She grinded her hips against him, and he moaned each time she took him in. "Michonne…" he was whispering. Like everything else about her, the pussy was unbearably good, fitting him like a warm, wet glove. And her hips swiveled in ways that he didn't understand, moving in figure eights around him. Just a few minutes in, he was reaching a plane of ecstasy he'd never been to before.

Her gyrations slowed to a delicious, deliberate pace, forcing herself to feel every vein and ridge of his cock with every thrust. She pressed her hands against his chest, and lifted herself from his length, purposely letting him slip out, just to feel his head against her clit again, making them both crazy each time she did. It was like experiencing the first penetration on repeat. Unbearably tantalizing. When he suddenly clutched her hips, clearly on the verge of cumming, she resumed her normal tempo, wanting to make it last longer for him; wanting to hear him moan louder for her.

But between the way Rick was saying her name and staring into her eyes, the darkness of the room only intensifying his piercing blue stare, Michonne was wetter than ever, and she knew she was about to climax herself. Her legs were starting to give out, but that didn't stop her from bouncing her ass on top of him, wanting to finish this ride strong before they switched positions. He was starting to grunt loudly, and she could feel herself squirting as that delicious vibration in her core turned to a full-blown orgasm. "I need you on top," she breathed through it.

_All you gotta do is say yes_  
_Don't deny what you feel_  
_Let me undress you baby_  
_Open up your mind, just rest  
_ _I'm about let you know you make me so…_

Rick wasted no time flipping them over so that she was flat on her back, and he was between her thighs. Similar to the way they were on the couch, he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, and took the opportunity to lick her clean, much to her surprise.

"Rick!" she called out for him loudly. And she could feel him smiling at her outburst as his tongue quickly explored every nook and cranny, which only managed to make her hotter and wetter. Her body was twitching beneath him, the pleasure practically agonizing, given that she hadn't even come down from her previous orgasm. "Please," she begged, wishing for him to stop the torture and give her the dick.

He took his time with the task, his eyes consuming her breasts, his warm left hand caressing the thigh he had strewn over his left shoulder, while his right hand took hold of his cock, pressing it against Michonne's opening. Teasing her with the tip, making her shiver in the process. He pushed into her slowly, feeling her walls clench around him as he went deep, and he had to talk himself down from climaxing right then. He felt lightheaded with bliss, and so did she, it seemed, as her eyes went rolling to the back of her head. He slid into her easily but maintained the slow, sensual speed for minutes on end, making sure she felt every inch of his dick. The way she was moaning told him she did, and he kissed her to keep her quiet. Sloppy, wet kisses that eventually ended up on the side of her face and her neck as he increased his speed. Their breathing turned to panting as he fucked her harder, both of them grunting with every thrust.

"You feel so good," he whispered against her hot, sweaty skin, his tongue latching onto her right nipple.

"Oh god," she whimpered, "you do, too."

"Let me know when you're good."

"Don't stop." Michonne felt his fingers rub her at clit once more, and she bit her lip so hard, she drew blood from it. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, deep enough to leave marks as evidence of their lust. Her body temperature was rising, her fists balled up tightly, her tits were jiggling every which way. Rick's sweat was dripping onto her chest, and the sound of his cock sliding into her wet pussy was all she could hear over their heavy breaths. The smell of their sex pervaded the room. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel everything. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so alive. She'd been waiting so long for this, and it was exactly everything she wanted it to be. Pure, unadulterated fucking.

_You make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so…_

Rick had never had sex like this before. Dizzying, heart-pounding, knee-weakening sex. In his marriage, it was good, and then great, and then became something of a chore, the longer he and Lori were together. But it was never the heady high he was experiencing then. This was dirty and unfiltered, and beautiful in its urgency. He'd always been passionate, but Michonne brought out something else entirely. A ferocity; a yearning he couldn't contain. And he didn't have to. Because for the first time in his life, he felt free.

* * *

Morning came, just a few short hours after Rick and Michonne did, and the sound of birds chirping accompanied the bright sun, lulling the two of them from their deep sleep. Michonne opened her eyes to find herself splayed across one half of Rick's bed, their arms and legs entangled, along with the sheets. She gazed at his pretty face as she waited for him to wake, loving the way the sun illuminated the freckles on his nose, the scars on his face, and the myriad of browns and grays in his hair and beard. He looked so at peace there, with his face pressed against the mattress, his lips slightly parted. It made her smile.

"I love you," she whispered as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake him.

"I love you too, 'Chonne." His voice was groggy and nearly inaudible, but he opened his eyes to let her know he was lucid. "Hey."

"Hey." They were both so tired, so worn out from the night before, they didn't bother to move, no attempts to greet the other with a kiss. Their limbs being locked was enough for them. "How do you feel?" Michonne wondered, in reference to his physical state.

"Like I never wanna leave this space," he mumbled. "I just wanna be here with you. Forever."

She grinned at his response, knowing he was being genuine. He always was with her. And even though that wasn't the question she was asking, she would happily take his answer. "I never did get to tell you about David and Betsy," she remembered as she considered his words and the concept of forever.

His eyebrows knitted in confusion. "I remember them. You said this used to be their house."

"I spoke of them," she nodded against the bed, "but I never told you about them. How he told me his story just before…"

"What was it?" He stared into her eyes intently, wondering what it possibly could've been if she wanted to share it with him.

"David was me," she said simply, the smile on her lips echoing in her voice. It was weird to think about how her family did live in their old home, how she and Rick were probably in the very bed David and Betsy slept in when they were alive. The world repeating itself; life reincarnating after death. "Alone. He'd lost everything, and he'd given up because of it. Given up on 'being someone' was what he said."

"And then he met Betsy," Rick guessed.

"She saw the someone he'd given up on being." An unexpected tear escaped her right eye and ran across her nose toward the left one. "And as you know, _I_ was alone, and _I_ had given up. And then I met you. So... as I was trying to say when we were in bathroom the other night, thank you. Thank you for seeing me, Rick. For being my Betsy," she was smiling and sniffling at the same time. "I had been so afraid to want things for myself, thinking I didn't deserve them, and you… made me feel like I wasn't so bad. You made me feel like a person again. Even back at the prison, whether you realized it or not, every time you told me I'd better make it home safe, you made me feel like I was loved. Wanted. And I never thanked you for that."

"You don't have to thank me." He finally moved, just his left hand, to reach out and wipe her tears. "It's made me better," he assured her with a nod, "loving you." And it had – he was wiser, easier, brighter…

_All you gotta do is say is yes_  
_Don't deny what you feel_  
_Let me undress you baby_  
_Open up your mind, just rest  
_ _I'm about let you know_

They were so lost in one another's stares, they hadn't noticed the bedroom door had swung open, and Carl and Judith were standing in the doorway. The teenager surveyed the scene for several seconds, unsure what he was seeing at first; that perhaps his one good eye was betraying him. But no, his dad and Michonne were, in fact, lying there entwined, just a crinkled sheet haphazardly covering their bare bodies as they obliviously whispered to one another. This was real.

Carl closed the door, leaving just as quietly as he'd appeared, not wanting to interrupt them if he didn't have to. Whatever was going on, it was obviously good. And as he and his sleepy sister headed toward the stairs to find breakfast on their own, he briefly glanced back at his dad's door with a small, proud smirk on his face. "Finally."

- **End** -

* * *

Lyrics: "Say Yes" - Floetry (Floetic) 


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